


Pot Meet Kettle

by heyfrenchfreudiana



Series: In This World and the Next [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asshole!Steve, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Comic-Con, F/M, I'm Sorry, Mutual Pining, Natasha doesn't want to put up with Steve's shit, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Popular!Natasha, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prompt Fic, Rating will go up, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Has Issues, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but come on, come onnnnnn, i love virgin steve almost as i love kitchens so come on now, i'm not going to say virgin steve, nerd!steve, suspend belief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/pseuds/heyfrenchfreudiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Natasha Romanoff asked Steve Rogers for help in Statistics, he almost said ‘no'. He thought about all of the things he would rather do and he how he would honestly rather have gone to the dentist than “help” a girl who he figured was about as deep as the puddles outside his dorm room after a rain.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>In which Skinny Steve thinks he has Natasha all figured out and she proceeds to show him that he knows nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Conflict

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elcapitan_rogers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elcapitan_rogers/gifts).



> As requested by @elcapitan-rogers: romanogers + Nerd! Steve tutoring for Most Popular girl! Nat and things get hot (aka smut please)
> 
> I read this prompt and thought I read "make this long". And then plot bunnies happened. And tables were flipped. 
> 
> Listen to "Flaws" by Bastille and feel warm and fuzzy.
> 
> Betaed for feels by @dresupi and @sunnie91, who both said it was a story that needed to be told. enablers.

When Natasha Romanoff asked Steve Rogers for help in Statistics, he almost said no. He thought about all of the things he would rather do and he how he would honestly rather have gone to the dentist than “help” a girl who he figured was about as deep as the puddles outside his dorm room after a rain.

She sat in the front of the class next to Maria Hill and he didn't have to wonder why she needed a tutor, always on her phone and late half the time. The first time he’d seen her, she and Maria had burst into the classroom mid-lecture while the Professor was going over the syllabus. Burst in, laughing about some dance reality show, her laughter interrupting the Professor mid-speech. Steve remembered his jaw dropping to the floor and hating her instantly. What gave her the special privilege to be late? The professor just raised an eyebrow and continued on, almost unphased and that pissed Steve off. How did she get away with that? She’d worn a small jean skirt and a top that _showed her stomach,_  her belly button a secret place he tried not to fixate on.  Steve was indignant.  She was beautiful, looked like a model and not a college student, and he thought _“oh, so that’s how she gets a pass.”_

So when she asked him for help after the second class, he almost turned her down. Not that he wanted her to do poorly, but he didn’t think she really cared. And yeah, maybe it was almost out of spite. He’d met girls like her, he’d _suffered_ over girls like her. It would serve her right to struggle a little.

Except that Steve, even if he didn’t really believe her, couldn’t say no. He thought about everything his Ma had taught him and that it just wouldn’t be Christian if he didn’t meet with her at least once. Which was how he found himself in a corner table at Starbucks with his laptop open to SPSS and her leaning into him as he explained the difference between mediation analysis and path analysis.

“I don’t...even understand. Causal chains?” she wrinkled her forehead and bit her bottom lip and Steve tried very hard to ignore that she was leaning into him, tried very hard to ignore the smell of her lotion and the sound of her breathing. She was close and it made him nervous but she wasn’t so close, he decided, that things were out of control.

“It’s just a chain,” he moved his leg and pulled out a mechanical pencil so that he could draw boxes and arrows. “This is the house that Jack built…”

She nodded, following, and they made it through the homework enough that he thought maybe he was getting somewhere with her, even if she had this need to repeat everything he said five times.

“When can we meet again?” she asked, sticking the straw to her frappucino in her mouth. Steve shifted, trying not to think too hard about what that looked like.

“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself. She pulled the straw out of her mouth and smiled.

“Because. You are smart and I need to get an A.”

Steve looked down, her compliment embarrassing. “I’m not that smart.”

“Sure you are,” she laughed and picked up her notebook. “I bet you panic when you get anything less than an A plus.”

Which was only moderately true, Steve thought though he didn’t answer. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made assumptions about who he was. _The nerd._ All he was missing was some tape on his glasses and a ridiculous laugh. The next thing he knew, she’d be making jokes about how he lived with his mother and played Dungeons and Dragons. It didn’t matter that he spent all of his time in school because he was good at it, because school had always been a safe place even when he was getting in fights afterwards. It didn’t matter that he spent hours sketching and painting when in the privacy of his dorm room, because he knew her type and knew she’d already pigeon-holed him for someone he wasn’t.

“I’ll pay you,” she added. “It’s the least I can do.”

Steve thought about the cost of the tickets to the comic convention that he’d been saving up for, a chance for him to meet up with Bucky who he hadn’t seen since the summer.

“Please?” Natasha asked, eyes wide and that was the nail in the coffin. Steve nodded and she pulled out her phone so that she could get his number.

Which was how he found himself on a regular Tuesday night “date” with Natasha Romanoff.

And also how he found himself, miracle of miracles, with Natasha Romanoff sitting on his bed while he reviewed coefficients with her. A girl on his bed. Steve never thought he would see the day.

“So are you dating, Steve?” she asked when they’d taken a break from studying.

“Are you?” Steve asked, trying to answer in as even a voice as he could, eyes not leaving the doodle he had started on his paper.  Not that he cared about the answer because _of course she was._

“Define ‘dating',” she pursed her lips and looked down at her lap.

“My operational definition?” he hummed, pushing the bridge of his glasses up.

“Go for it,” she crossed her legs and he twisted his face in thought.

“Two people who are physically and emotionally attracted to each other as expressed by spending time together and exchanging things. Endearments, flowers…”

“Body fluids,” she interrupted, tilting her head with a smirk.

Steve let out an uneasy laugh. “I was going to say ideas but yes, body fluids are appropriate.”

She smiled, fingertips tracing the stitching on his comforter, and licked her lips. And, for a split-second, Steve thought he felt something. Like maybe she might almost be...flirting.

And then his dorm room door opened and his roommate barged in, a pizza in one hand and a case of beer in the other.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sam said, out of breath as though he had been jogging. Tossing the pizza on the bed next to Natasha, he held out his hand and winked. Steve held in a groan when Natasha shook it, when she turned her body to him and listened to him tell her about some guy who had fallen off the treadmill at the gym, because Sam was smooth enough to make that kind of story sound interesting.

By the time she had left, her and Sam were talking about going to the mountains for a hike she thought he would love and Sam was adding her phone number to his contacts.

Steve wasn't jealous. He wasn't.

But he still threw his pillow at Sam after she left.

Sam shrugged like he couldn't help it, she was the kind of girl you just want to be around, you know? The frustrating part was that it was true. She was.

Even though he tried desperately to hate her, to put her in the cookie cutter mold of cute-popular girl who is vapid and mean, he couldn't. He couldn't even when he tried. The truth came out little by little in comments he made when he thought of them, to point out how ridiculous it was that she was trying so hard.

***

_(“I’m sure you would rather be shopping. Or at a party, I don't know,” he said, half apologizing at their next study date._

_She smirked. “Maybe. But Maria downloaded Doctor Who and I can't miss that.”)_

_***_

_“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a drawing he’d tacked to the wall. It was nothing, just the bridge from back home. He’d drawn it several times, mostly a default doodle when he was bored, but he’d liked that particular drawing because he’d added a little kid in one corner, holding an umbrella and looking into the skyline, and it reminded him of himself._

_“Nothing,” he shook his head but she reached up to trace the cables and tiers, her fingertips brushing over the little boy with the umbrella. “It’s just a doodle.”_

_“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly. “It’s amazing. I didn’t know you could draw.”_

_Steve grimaced, embarrassed at the attention. “It’s trash. I was just about to toss it.”_

_“Don’t you dare,” she scolded him like he was crazy. Steve pulled it off the corkboard and handed it to her, his heart pounding when she folded it up carefully and put it in her purse like she’d won a prize._

_***_

The worst part of all was liking her. Was finding out that she watched Doctor Who and was nitpicky about grammar, and that she had gotten into trouble for attending a rally for immigration reform downtown. The worst part was when she made silly puns or when he found out that she had a picture of Han Solo as the wallpaper on her phone.

The worst part was when she playfully slapped his chest and smiled like she didn't care that he wasn't like the guys she would normally go for. When she met his eyes and he thought maybe she wanted him to kiss her, because he knew _that_ was a lie. Because when she went home, he felt good. He didn't have the muscles or the height and he was awkward and allergic to everything, but she smiled at him and he felt like a man.

He hated that. He hated knowing that he liked her, he hated knowing that it was one-sided, and he hated the inevitable rejection he knew would follow. That's what happened when gorgeous girls like her talked to boys like him. He wasn't stupid. He knew his place on the food chain.

“Oh, so you’re going to the comic con?” she asked him once.

“What?” he asked, stopping mid thought and unsure if he had heard her right.

“The con...I saw it on your laptop just now,” she motioned, pulling her notebook out of her bag.

Steve paused to analyze the situation and how to respond. He could show his enthusiasm, how much he was looking forward to flying home for it, how it was only his second one but the first one had been some of the best days of his life. She didn't look bored or disinterested but sharing that much…

“Make sure to take a picture of Deadpool,” she smiled and sat down.

That, Steve realized regretfully, was when he fell in love with her.

Steve wasn't sure what to do with that. There were facts and there were feelings and it made him anxious just thinking about it. She was just about perfect and not nearly as dumb or as vapid as he had originally assumed, and she almost seemed to enjoy being around him. But, just when he got the courage to ask her if she might want to go out sometime, she’d show up in tight jeans that made him ache or he’d stop mid-sentence to catch her smacking her lips as she reapplied her lip gloss and he’d lose any nerve he’d built up.

Natasha was too good to be true. Smart and funny and lips created by God for kissing. _By someone else._  He decided the sooner they got through the semester the better because he hated the way she made him feel and the reminders it brought up.. He hated how much he wanted her. He could get through most of his life feeling satisfied enough, not really dwelling on his insecurities. But she brought that “I’m out of her league” feeling up and he hated the way he banged his head against his desk when she’d gone home, utterly dejected.

He thought maybe things might be different when they studied for the final exam. She’d brought Oreos over and was covering her eyes with them, pretending they were mock eyeballs, and he laughed so hard he was choking. Tossing the Oreos aside, she’d knelt next to him on the floor and was patting his back as he coughed, her rich laughter ending as she met his eyes and hummed. She was so close, close enough that he didn’t have to move at all, just had to crane his neck only slightly to bring his lips to hers.

Steve had kissed a small handful of girls before, even if he was still a virgin. Kissing Natasha blew all of those kisses out of the water. Out of the universe.

Pressing her hands on his knees, she smiled and leaned forward and into him, and he thought about how it felt when time stopped. Just the sound of her lips smacking against his, his breath ragged, and the small taste of chocolate. Steve thought maybe he could hear his blood rushing through his veins and then she put a hand on his cheek.

“Natasha,” he whispered, face hot and unsure of what to even tell her, except that he wanted her and that he couldn’t believe she was real. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the sound of Sam, humming Marvin Gaye as he fumbled the door open.

Sam just raised an eyebrow when he realized that they’d scrambled apart, not saying anything about how they both sat red-faced and staring at the floor like they’d been caught sinning. For that, Steve was grateful.

“Um…,” he ran a hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath and think of the right words. Sam picked up his headphones and took a step outside, sending Steve a quick nod before he left as if to encourage him on. “So, do you wanna go catch a movie later tonight? Or coffee? Or anything.”

Natasha hugged her chest and grimaced, and it was like the apologies couldn’t come out fast enough. Steve felt his heart crash to the floor.

“Yes. But, I already have… a date, tonight,” she explained, face scrunched up like she knew he would be disappointed. “It’s for a sorority thing or I’d break it off.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “A sorority thing.” _On a Tuesday night._  Not that he’d put it past a sorority to throw a party on a school night, but he could see the thinly-veiled lies for what they were. And it hurt even more that she really did look sorry, not like the typical girl he’d ever been rejected by, who didn’t even bat an eye much less give a shit as she turned him down.

“I really do,” she repeated forcefully, face flustered. “I do, Steve.”

“Okay,” he shrugged, mentally putting himself back into the place he belonged. How stupid was he to think for even a moment that she was interested in him. Was she playing him then? Some sort of “flirt with the nerd in order to get a laugh later”?

“We should finish these questions,” he redirected her attention when she opened her mouth again, shifting when she moved to touch his shoulder. He was harsh and childish and he knew it, but he was also hurt.

“Or we could talk about it,” she suggested, calm and forceful. Steve didn’t want to talk about kissing her or being rejected but she pushed anyway. “Steve…”

“Why do you need an A?” he asked, suddenly, his anxiety and insecurities bubbling out of him like hot lava. “Afraid to lose Daddy’s credit card?”

It was the mean and he knew it, assuming he knew anything about her. He watched her take in a deep breath and watched as her eyes flashed in anger.

“What the fuck, Steve?” she answered. “Are you going to do that, really?”

“It’s an honest question,” he shrugged, not wanting to back down.

“Fuck you, Steve. I don’t owe you any explanations,” she spat as she stood to her feet. “I can’t go out with you and so you go there? Who do you think I am? Rich, pretty, and stupid? God, you are tossing out all the prejudices. I was really hoping you’d gotten beyond that....”

“Not all of them,” he muttered. “You forgot _easy_.”

She slapped him so hard he fell back on the bed, his glasses nearly knocked off and his door slamming before he could respond.

***

_“You’re an asshole,” Sam told him later after he’d handed him a cold beer for his cheek. “And you fucking deserved that one.”_

_“Just speeding up the inevitable,” Steve huffed, wincing into the beer bottle._

_“You’re also fucking blind,” his roommate rolled his eyes. “Fucking pot meet kettle, man.”_

***

She avoided him for the rest of the semester, proving his point entirely, not that he did anything to change things. He stopped tutoring her and she stopped looking over her shoulder at him in class. It was as if he was invisible. He tried not to let it hurt.

***

“Hey Steve,” the Professor called him down after the last class had been dismissed. “I wanted to say congratulations!”

Steve adjusted the strap to his backpack and gave her a small smile. Not that it was the first time a professor had asked to speak to him at the end of class but he wasn’t really sure what she was congratulating him for.

“For your grade,” she explained as she packed up her briefcase. “I saw that you were tutored by Romanoff. Not that you needed it, but it was a very smart strategy. Really going the extra mile to get that A plus?”

 _Romanoff_. Natasha. Steve laughed at her mistake and shook his head. “You have it backwards. I tutored her…”

The instructor looked at him like he was delirious. “Sure, Steve. That’s funny.”

“Funny,” he repeated.

“I mean, she’s here on a full-ride. She’s a double major Math and Computer Science. I thought you guys had classes together or something. I mean. Your grade would be the highest in the class if she wasn’t here too.”

Steve laughed again, this time to mask the feeling that he had been punched in the gut because none of the words coming out of the Professor’s mouth made any sense. Why would she pay him to tutor her if she was already smarter? Natasha Romanoff. _His_ Natasha Romanoff.

“I don’t understand,” he said slowly. His Statistics professor smirked, leaving him standing in an empty classroom, stunned.

 

He thought about all of the little clues that she’d given that she wasn’t the average pretty girl and even then it didn’t add up. And then it bothered him and even pissed him off. Had it been a joke for her? He’d always assumed she was laughing about him behind his back but he hadn’t wanted to believe it was true or that she was capable. The reality hurt more than when she’d slapped him.

He left the classroom confused and by the time he’d reached his dorm room, he was despondent. How had he even thought for a second she might be different? He thought maybe he’d loved her, or that he could love her. She wasn’t _supposed_ to be both. She wasn’t supposed to be intelligent, funny, and sexy as hell and when all of the pieces fell together and he realized that she was, he couldn’t understand why she would talk to him at all.

***

“Go for a walk, Steve,” Sam sighed from his desk. “My last final is tomorrow and I can’t concentrate with your bellyaching.”

“I’m not…” Steve frowned, getting up from his spot underneath his blankets.  He’d gone to bed early, his mind focused on Natasha. Not that he’d been sleeping, just tossing and turning.

“Dude, you’re thinking so loud the windows are rattling,” his roommate snorted.

Steve surrendered to the fact that Sam was right and that fresh air might help. And that was how he found himself wandering down Greek Row, stopping just in front of where the Sig Eps were obviously throwing an end-of-the-year celebration. The sound of bass thumped down the block and he could see prettier people than he laughing and dancing in the windows.

“Fucking shit,” someone cursed and he followed the sound to Natasha herself, storming out from the gate leading to the backyard. She looked angry and, upon closer inspection, drenched and looking like she’d fallen in someone’s lunch.

“Natasha,” he croaked and she looked his way before cursing again, throwing her hands up so that they could land on her thighs with a slap. He considered walking away but he couldn’t, the knowledge of how she’d played him something he just couldn’t swallow.  He took strides toward her, catching her arm before she could walk away.

“Natasha,” he repeated and she narrowed her eyes. And then Steve looked down, his nose picking up the scent of something acidic and putrid, his stomach turning on instinct.

“Fucking Clint Barton,” she cursed, pulling away from him. “Whoever told him it would be a good idea to drink vodka and then beer when _everyone knows beer before liquor_. Fucking amateurs.”

“He threw up on you?” Steve asked dumbly and she threw her hands up again, exasperated, before turning on her heels and away from him.

“Wait,” he reached for her hand. “I need to talk to you. I need to apologize…”

She folded her arms and sighed through her nose, her foot tapping, and he felt desperate to convince her for her time.

“Fine, Steve. Look, take me back to your place, okay? I need to clean this off and we can talk.”

***

“I will wash your laundry all next semester if you leave,” he begged Sam, who raised an eyebrow at Natasha. She’d blown past both of them to the communal showers and he shivered at the sound of the water running.  

“I will leave for free so that you can fix this,” Sam said with a pat on the back before grabbing his computer and his textbook. “But you can do my laundry, no problem.”

Steve nodded and wrung his hands before pulling open his drawers so that he could find anything for her to wear.  She really wasn’t that much smaller, he figured, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and laying them gingerly on the countertop near the shower, eyes on the floor lest she think he was catching a peak. His heart pounded at the thought and he returned to his bed to sit on his hands.

“Thanks for the clothes,” she came out minutes later, her hair in a towel.

It took his breath away.

The sight of Natasha, who he’d hated and then loved and now wasn’t sure about at all, standing bare-footed and fresh-faced in his clothes. Steve should have thought of something clever but instead all he could think about were breasts, ass, and the likelihood that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“What do you need to say?” she unrolled the turban and started finger-combing her hair. He noted that she looked less angry, thanks to the shower, and he counted his blessings.

“Why did you lie to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand why you asked me for help at all if you didn’t need it. You paid me, Natasha.”

“Because,” she shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you. You wouldn’t give me the time of day otherwise.”

“What?” he scoffed. “Natasha, that doesn’t make sense.”

“Really?” she pursed her lips. “What happened to rich, pretty, stupid and easy? Tell me you would even talk to me with all of those wonderful qualifications.”

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it. He had nearly turned her down at the start, after all, because he couldn’t take her seriously.

“Exactly,” she continued. “It doesn’t matter that I worked damn hard to get here, that maybe I don’t have a rich father who pays my bills and that maybe I’m not riding on my tits. Don’t think you are the first, Steve Rogers.”

“Natasha, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, earnestly. “I thought…”

“That I wouldn’t want to get to know you because of how you look? Because you’re smart?” she interrupted, moving into his space as if to intimidate him even though she was shorter.

“It’s happened,” he said weakly.

“You aren’t the only one.”

Steve took a step back, hitting his desk. “I really am sorry.”

“You are a childish, immature boy,” she retorted, pushing a finger into his chest. “And I am an idiot.”

Steve shook his head, because that wasn’t right. She was everything _opposite_ of an idiot, even he had been immature. She stood in front of him, body tense with anger and every reason for it, and he felt sorry that he’d been the source of her discomfort. He wanted her to sit down. He wanted to fix it, to make it up to her even if he wasn’t sure how.

“I am, I’m sorry,” he took a deep breath and she huffed, face close enough to kiss. And then he thought maybe she might kiss him, her lips close to his and her eyes heavy-lidded. He gripped the desk for support, so confused and not sure what to think. He had hated her and then loved her and then hated her all over again, after all.

“It hurt,” she said quietly. “I thought I could...that you would be different.”

“How can I fix it?” he asked desperately. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to beg for forgiveness.

She took a step back and he thought maybe she would cry. He was the reason. Steve was supposed to be the one being picked on, not the opposite, and it made him feel lower than low that the tables had been turned.

“I don’t know, Steve. You’re smart. Google it.”

She sighed and left him standing against the desk struggling for words and feeling lost. All that he knew, all the good grades and potential meant nothing because he didn’t know how to tell her in words what she meant to him and how sorry he was for hurting her.

 


	2. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you that you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you, from this day on.”_
> 
> -Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked so many people for advice on this. Tumblr and just about anyone who might have an opinion. And pretty much everyone said the same thing, "go big." Thank you to everyone for their advice and sympathy. And thank you to everyone who encouraged the updates and expressed support for my messy interpretation of Steve. I hope I didn't ruin it. 
> 
> unbeta'd, posted with fear and trembling.

Google was only, as it turned out, minimally helpful when it came to women.

_Apologize, admit your mistakes._

Those were the barely helpful, vague answers he got when he searched for how to apologize to a woman. The kind of answers that made him want to throw his laptop across the room and wonder what the hell he was doing anyway.

Apologize? That was something Steve already knew. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever apologized. But there was a small difference between apologizing for accidentally bumping into someone or forgetting someone’s birthday and calling someone who he thought he might be in love with a slut. ( _And why? Why had he even gone there? Why had he been so quick to judge? Out of fear? Pride? He tried to shake the idea that he of all people knew better. She wasn’t supposed to be who she was and it wasn’t like he was so out of line for making that judgment. He had survival instincts, after all. Been there, done that, better to strike first and so on)._

He felt awkward and unsure but he knew enough to know that he needed to do more than say he was sorry.

“Did you say you were sorry?” Sam asked when he got home, shrugging with Steve’s nod. “I don’t know, man. Say you are sorry again. Add flowers.”

And Steve did. Pink roses from a website that cost him forty-five dollars he would have rather spent on the comic con. In truth, he would have gone for more but he was afraid she’d throw them in the trash. Or worse, that they’d arrive before she left for home and they’d die a lonely death before January with no one to see them.

_Thanks for the roses._

A quick text two days later, when he was already about ready to board the flight home, told him that at least she’d gotten them. Four words. His heart sped up and he signaled the flight attendant for a glass of water because he thought he might be having an asthma attack.

_It’s not enough. I’m sorry._

Steve sent his response and then turned off his phone, agonizing the entire flight over about whether or not he’d been too quick to answer, whether or not he should have waited to text her back. And when he turned his phone on after landing, tapping it anxiously against his thigh while it loaded, he thought again about how stupid he’d been. If she never talked to him at all, he deserved it.

The texts he got were not the texts he hoped for. A text from his mother telling him she’d pick him up outside. A text from Bucky saying that his ma wanted to make Steve dinner. A second text from Bucky with a pic of the burrito he’d just burned in the microwave.

Nothing from Natasha.

Not then, not later, even when he obsessively glanced at his phone and willed anything different.

“Who you waiting for?” Bucky nodded toward Steve’s phone a few days later. Steve sighed. He’d long accepted that he wouldn’t hear back from her and so he’d moved to the next possibility, that if she was ever going to speak to him again, it would be because he made the first move.

 _Making the first move._ The idea of it fucked with Steve’s psyche more than he cared to admit. To start, “making the first move” had never really ever worked out for him. Memories of feeling awkward and tongue-tied and wrong were vivid. There was a script that he followed, that girls followed around him.

_"I like you as a brother.”_

_“You’re sweet but I think we are better as friends.”_

_“I just don’t think you’re my type.”_

Steve knew the script. He hadn’t expected Natasha to deviate from it, to be different. And even though he had reasonable evidence to suggest that she might like him, might actually not say those things, he had a hard time believing it. She was an anomaly. And even if he’d resolved the fact that someone like Natasha might like someone like him, it didn’t solve the fact that she’d lied to him. That she was not only beautiful but smart, smart enough that their professor had actually thought _she_ was tutoring _him._

That hurt.

He didn’t think it hurt because he needed to be smarter. No, that she was at least his academic equal only made him love her more. If anything, it hurt because he’d been too stupid to see what was right in front of his face.

“Did you say you were sorry?” Bucky asked, throwing a red rubber ball against the wall in his bedroom. Like it was obvious or simple. Which, Steve figured, would be the case for someone like Bucky. Bucky- birth name, James Buchanan Barnes because his parents dreamed he’d be president before he was even born- rivaled Sam in the charm department and in fact, gave his poor mother regular headaches for as much drama followed him related to women. (He’d once juggled a pair of sisters and their mother, something Steve enjoyed ribbing him about regularly, though Bucky also argued that he’d _changed_ in college).

“Of course I said I was sorry,” Steve groused, staring at his phone. “Should I say it again?”

“You can’t say it enough,” Bucky said in all seriousness. “I think it goes over best while you're head is in between her legs but…”

Steve groaned. There was a higher probability of finding life in outer space then him apologizing to Natasha in _that_ capacity. He would be lucky enough if she talked to him at all, which was really all he wanted. Not that he was surprised by Bucky’s advice, but it really left him with little to go on.  “I don’t even know why I’m asking you. That’s your advice? You are worse than Google.”

“Hey, I’m not the one groveling…”

“I’m not groveling, Buck,” Steve interrupted him before he even got started. No, he was not going to grovel. Beg?  He imagined himself on his knees before her, like a slave for a queen and he shuddered. She was more than her looks. She’d told him as much and he knew it to be true but he was not going to beg. He was not going to be that guy who begged the pretty girl who was too good for him to let him have a second chance, like he was some charity case that needed her sympathy.

“Maybe you should? You can’t put your phone down for five minutes, Steve. She’s obviously the only thing on your mind.”

Steve wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Bucky to shut his face because Steve was absolutely capable of putting his phone down. And he could feel those words stumbling out of his mouth but even as he started to speak, he was opening the text messaging app.

“Steve, you don’t have to. I mean, she’s either worth it or she isn’t,” Bucky said, getting up to pat him on the back. “I mean, what does it cost you? If she’s just some girl, you don’t have to do anything.”

Which was entirely the point.

She wasn’t just some girl. She was an outlier. And she’d stood there, ready to give him a chance and he’d all but wasted it.

“She can’t want me. It’s just not logical that someone like her would want someone like me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Steve, get off the cross and go apologize. And stop pretending to know what girls want. They are complicated as fuck and the sooner you accept that the better.”

***

Steve Rogers went back to school and back to his dorm with palpable anxiety, a spare inhaler, and a refilled prescription of Xanax. He knew what he was supposed to do. Apologize, as many times as she needed to hear it, even if he felt like a broken record and his voice grew hoarse.  

He wasn't sure if they’d have more classes together. Part of him, the cowardly part, half hoped they wouldn't so that he could avoid her and his inevitable fuck-up.

When she walked into his Abstract Mathematics class, his chest tightened. He knew she'd probably be there. She was a Math major, after all. The first time he'd seen her, he'd shut her down as a two-dimensional sorority sister. A crimson-haired _Barbie_ doll cut-out. He wasn’t sure if ignorance was bliss or if he was going to spend the rest of his life regretting the fact that he’d had her and missed what was right in front of him.

She came right before class started, as the professor was passing out syllabi, and this time, Steve knew better than to second-guess her. Even wearing tight jeans and heels that made her legs look longer than what should be possible in real life, when she took her seat at the front of the classroom, Steve knew she was there to learn.

He swallowed, would have laughed to himself at how learning she was _smarter_ than him suddenly gave her more validity. But instead, he picked up his book bag and walked over so that he could slide into the seat next to her. However she reacted, he had to try. Natasha looked over, the corners of her mouth twitching up, and Steve’s mouth went dry. He started to say her name when he was was interrupted by the professor, who was calling everyone to attention.

In hindsight, he should have stayed home.

So busy was he trying to think of how to _talk_ to her that he completely missed everything their teacher was explaining. Not just the usual policies and obligatory mentions of academic integrity but the rest of the lecture entirely.  Not that he’d been outright staring at her the entire time, memorizing the way her foot bounced when she was listening or the way she bit her tongue when she was concentrating. These were little quirks about her he’d seen before after all, and so he didn’t have justifiable reason to stare.

He stared at his paper instead, running through scenarios for how to tell her he was sorry for judging her but he’d spent a good deal of his winter break obsessing over her and he didn’t think he’d be able to think straight if she didn’t accept his apology. He registered that the instructor was writing letters on the board and tossing out terms like “injective”, “surjective”, or “bijective”.

And then the class was over. Steve looked down at his blank paper and then up at her.

“Natasha,” he said quietly, almost in a whisper, arms covering his paper because the last thing he wanted was for her to see how lost he looked.

“Steve,” she acknowledged, collecting her books. “You look…”

“I look like shit, probably,” he interjected, his heart speeding up. “I missed the entire lecture.”

She looked down at his paper and then up at him, presumably to judge the bead of sweat developing on his brow just from talking to her. He’d gotten over this, gotten over being nervous talking to girls, gotten over feeling awkward and useless like his tongue was fat and his legs were made of jello.

Except that he clearly hadn’t because all of those feelings from high school flooded back. He nearly gave up before he’d even gotten started.

“I was going to say that you looked good,” she smiled and he couldn’t read whether or not she looked uncomfortable or remorseful, except that she’d let her free hand drop to his desk and her fingers danced alongside his arm like she was not quite sure if she could commit to touching him.

It was painful.

He thought he was going to die.

But he didn’t.

Steve was about to open his mouth to tell her something, _anything_ until his brain slowed down when someone else called her name. Natasha looked over his shoulder and smiled, pulling her hand back and hugging her supplies against her chest.

And then it was all out of his hands, or so he let himself believe. He turned around to see someone. A _guy_ someone standing in the doorway, looking cool with a backpack on his shoulder and his eyes on Natasha. Tall and all lean muscle, with short spiky blond hair that looked like it was supposed to instead of like the moppy mess that was always in Steve’s eyes. And when Natasha acknowledged _him_ , her face actually got brighter and she looked sincerely happy. Steve swallowed and pushed his glasses up before collecting his blank notebook and textbook, because the sooner he left her the better.

“See you in class,” he mumbled, not daring to look at her as he scrambled out of his desk and brushed past the other guy. He heard her say his name again, thought he heard concern, but he couldn’t physically stop to double-check because if he stopped, she’d see him for the weak, chicken-shit bastard he really was.

***

Steve dodged and avoided her for the rest of the week, and by the end, he almost felt at peace about it. She’d given him a chance. He’d missed it. Even if the guy at the doorway was just a friend, he’d been a helpful reminder to Steve that there was only so much he could do, that he was invisible. And even better that he was more productive for it, because if he hadn’t wasted time and energy aching for her, he’d have class notes to show for it.  

He was proud of himself, for not thinking of her and accepting the way things were, for walking the long way back from class to his dorm, the way that avoided her room. For not sitting next to her in class and getting out before she had a chance to say anything. For allowing himself five minutes on the dot, phone timer enforced, to remember how soft her lips were or what it sounded like when she laughed at something he said.

Until the first exam. Which normally wouldn’t be occasion to think about Natasha or to wish for things to be different. He stared at the paper and twirled his pencil in his fingers and his heart sank.

Steve had always been a fast test-taker. He didn’t like going back to check his work, not because he thought he was always right, but because going back just added to his anxiety. He knew when he had the answer and he was, for the most part, fairly good at exams. He couldn’t blame the sinking feeling in his gut as he moved through the test on Natasha, who flipped through her test booklet seemingly unfazed.

It was the first failing grade Steve had received since high school gym class, when the coach had made everyone run for forty minutes straight. When he asked the professor for guidance, all he received was a shrug and a suggestion to pair up with someone for outside help.

(He was actually straightforward. His instructor didn’t even bat an eye when he told Steve that he should ask Natasha Romanoff for help, considering her standing in the course and in the department as a whole.)

(Steve stood in the bathroom after, his forehead on the stall door, and considered what it would cost to ask her for help and whether or not he would rather fail).

***

Natasha Romanoff speaking in mathematical terms was, without any doubt, the sexiest thing Steve had ever been privileged to see in his life.  When she laid out her different highlighters and her notebook and started discussing concepts and proofs with just a tinge of flush in her cheeks, he saw literal stars. _Oh how he’d misjudged her, oh how wrong he’d been._ It was like watching an artist at work. She spoke passionately. He would have listened all day.

When he came to her, he expected her to laugh. All of the weeks of self-torture had told him she would. Natasha _did_ smile, _did_ raise an eyebrow at the strange turn of events, did look around as if to make sure that no one else was listening because who could honestly believe that Steve Rogers was asking her for help?

They met at Starbucks, a flashback to the first time, and she did ( _sweet Jesus_ ) pause from her lesson to suck on the same green straw, except this time she looked up with doe-eyes and Steve gulped because there was nothing he could do except to be completely at her mercy.

“Can we meet again?” he asked carefully when she’d gone over his test, after she’d gently pointed every mistake and helped him see where he’d gone wrong.

Natasha met his eyes and then looked down, her face wrinkled as she undoubtedly thought of how to let him down easy. It was a trainwreck Steve was afraid to be apart of.

So he started talking. Telling her the apology he’d planned to tell her since the minute she’d left his dorm in his sweats with his heart on the floor. He told her that he was sorry, that she was right, that he’d known better, that he was the biggest asshole on the planet, even that he hadn’t stopped thinking of her.

“Not just because you are smarter than me, Natasha,” he said, emphatic and desperate for her to hear him. “Even before, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I couldn’t believe you were real and you might want to do anything with me and God, I’m a schmuck but I’d like to be a better schmuck and that might be possible if you’d say you’d forgive me for all of the schmucky things I’ve done to you.”

“Steve,” she started, and Steve thought again about when she’d kissed him, and how honest a kiss it had been, even if he’d been afraid to believe it. And then he thought about all of the advice. Google, Sam, Bucky. Apologize, apologize, apologize and then grovel.

“Natasha, please,” his voice croaked. “I was so blind and stupid but I was also stupidly in love with you. I still am. Stupid and stupidly in love with you.”

Before she could say anything, he stood up, moving the supplies on the wobbly coffee table to the floor. Steve thought about when he’d seen her with that guy after class, when they’d kissed and he brushed her off because she couldn’t drop everything for him, and about every time he’d thought there was no possible way she’d be interested in him. He thought about her breath on his cheek and the way she’d tasted like chocolate. And then as she was saying his name again, he pulled himself up on the same coffee table. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Steve took a deep breath and did his best to call everyone to attention.

It felt like surfing, standing on a table that he knew could fall over. But Steve shouted a few loud “excuse me”s and felt a shiver of exhilaration in his gut when he was rewarded with the eyes of his fellow students and some snickering baristas.

And Natasha, down below him, open-mouthed and eyes wide.

“I would like to say that I, Steven Grant Rogers, am pathetically in love with this woman.  I am in love with Natasha Romanoff.”

“Congrats, man!” someone shouted. A few people clapped.  Steve continued.

“I am in love with her but I fucked up with her before I even had a real chance and I accused her of some nasty things and everyone here needs to know that not only are those things not true, but that she’s probably a better person than me.”

“Steve,” she called up, reaching for his hand. “This table is going to fall over! Enough!”

He looked down and nodded, wishing he could read her and read whether or not it _had_ been enough.

“I’m sorry, Natasha,” he repeated as he scooted carefully down, watching as her cheeks got red.

“I know,” she said as she put her things down and moved close, lacing her fingers through his. “I got your roses.”

Steve had never been kissed in public before. It was monumental. Not just a peck, the way someone would kiss if they were embarrassed or kissing out of pity. She pressed her lips against his and he waved his hands for a second out of shock and then when he dared put them on her hips, she smiled into his mouth and gave a small sigh and it was the most perfect moment, better than anything he could have imagined.  She kissed him like he was enough.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pspspspspssss look at this--- [art](http://heyfrenchfreudiana.tumblr.com/post/142356058699/heyfrenchfreudiana-sunnie91-never-let-me-go) made by sunnie91 i want to hug steve omg perfect!!


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So.... heyyyy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am problematic because I'm adding to the chapter count (there WILL be smut eventually, I swear). 
> 
> But listen, instead of being mad at me, look at this fanart which is amazing and ahhhhhhh:  
> [here (u say somewhat inspired, I still floated on air, man ](http://doc-destructo.tumblr.com/post/142796333780/skinnysteve-and-nat-somewhat-inspired-by) and [ this beautiful one](http://heyfrenchfreudiana.tumblr.com/post/142846642304/sunnie91-never-let-me-go-a-pot-meets-kettle)  
> And look [here](http://heyfrenchfreudiana.tumblr.com/post/143571845994/for-pot-meet-kettle-and-instead-of-actually) bc I made a photo collage/soundtrack thing. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who gently asked about this fic. I never stop writing even the wips you think I've forgotten and I really appreciate even the gentle asks, because it feels good to know people love/miss/want more of these babies.

_ She kissed him like he was enough. _

He walked her back to her dorm room, her arm linked through his, and every time he snuck a glance her way she was looking down, cheeks rosy and eyes alight like she was holding in a big laugh. She looked incredible. He wanted to kiss her again, not that he dared to ask her or make a move. Just the weight of her arm or the way she leaned against him like she was cold and needed his small body to provide shelter. It made him feel strong, like a man, and he tried not to second-guess it, tried not to imagine that everyone was staring with their jaws on the floor because a girl like Natasha Romanoff was walking with someone like skinny Steve Rogers. 

They were so mismatched, so incredibly incongruous. She looked like a model, from her glossy hair that shined in the sun and looked like it was on fire to her perfect feet. She was wearing black Converse and jean shorts that seemed intentionally frayed and he thought it was probably her idea of dressing down but all that did was make him ache at the sight of her long legs, to see if the skin of her calves was as silky as it looked. Steve’s lungs burned as he tried to remind himself that he was putting the cart before the horse, that she’d kissed him and that she was clutching his bony arm as they walked but that did not mean he would be feeling up her legs anytime soon. He tried to remind himself to just  _ breathe, just inhale and exhale,  _ while she giggled softly to herself. 

“What?” he asked finally, curiosity getting the better of him though he wasn’t quite sure he even wanted to know. Natasha looked his way,  _ beaming _ , and she stopped walking long enough to wrap her other arm around his waist and pull him close, almost knocking him off his feet and definitely taking his breath away. 

“What _ what _ ?” she shrugged and even that was seductive. Steve groaned, reaching up to touch one of her elbows half just to keep himself from falling back.  _ Oh _ , he thought as she grinned and then licked her lips.  _ Oh, this is not good. I am at her mercy. This never turns out well.  _

“You’re smiling,” he answered, feeling dumb and like he’d lost all smarts, like he’d never had to talk to a girl before. It was only a little embarrassing. She laughed, looking down for only a second and he thought maybe her smile was even bigger. She was smiling because of him, he knew that logically, but it still felt abstract and he didn’t think he could believe it, even with the facts there right in front of him. 

Natasha smirked and kissed him quickly before nudging his heavy feet forward. “Of course I’m smiling. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She smiled like it was obvious and Steve touched his lips, letting himself be pulled along because he was powerless and even if he didn’t believe it, there were worse ways to die. He tried to quiet the voices in his head that said that people were watching, that she was somehow playing him, that this was going to end badly and in every other way when he’d put himself out there for a girl. She’d already accepted his apology, what more was he asking for?

_ Steve, _ he imagined Bucky patting him on the back.  _ Jeez Louise, Steve. Stop fucking trying to guess what’s in her head and just kiss her.  _  Steve swallowed nervously. He wanted to. 

And when they stood outside her room, she pulled his collar and let him do it.  The world around him stopped and he thought maybe he was dreaming, this was the sort of thing that happened in movies, that happened to other guys but not to him. As they’d walked, his mind had raced and he walked through all of the things he’d say if she changed her mind, if she turned around and realized the error of her ways and laughed in his face. 

She leaned back against the stucco wall and the way Steve covered her body, he almost felt big. It was a miracle.  

“Natasha,” he mumbled into her mouth as she kissed him, not that he had any other words in his brain besides her name, not like he could think much farther than that. She tasted and smelled like coffee and he kept bumping his nose against hers, and it was probably the worst kiss she’d ever had. It was a little like watching a trainwreck, he thought. A chemical reaction. Hydrogen and oxygen and he was sure he was doing it wrong but he was also sure he couldn’t turn away, couldn’t stop as long as she was still giving. 

“So, wanna come back tomorrow? Study some more?” she grinned, nipping at his bottom lip. It felt like a code he couldn’t break and he closed his eyes, needing the moment to catch his breath. He wondered if she could hear his heart thumping right out of his chest. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding probably a great deal higher than then he wanted. He fumbled through the pockets to his jacket for his inhaler, not that he needed it but just in case. 

“How about,” Natasha sighed, a hand on his chest over his heart but her face like the devil, “you take me out sometime?”

“Where?”  _ God _ , he was like a lemming marching to his uncertain death, with little to no resistance. 

She shrugged and pulled her books out, ugly blue and yellow reminders of the stupid textbook industry that had not only forced him into spending hundreds of dollars on book-shaped paperweights but that were also now sudden intruders into the space between them. Fucking textbooks. 

“Out?” she said carefully. “Like a date, Steve Rogers…”

He nodded and she narrowed her eyes. “But first you have to study. Get an A and I’ll let you take me out.”

_ Sure _ , he figured, _ that was the easy part. Get an A, no problem.  _

“Says the schmuck who is failing,” she shrugged, lips curling up to teases him. “Says the guy who is asking _rich,_ _pretty_ , and _stupid_ for math tutoring.”

“Natasha, I’m sorry,” Steve hung his head, his own words used against him and breaking his heart. She laughed and touched his shoulder. 

“Wait, I forgot  _ easy _ ...”

Steve huffed, not wanting to even look at her for that one. “I didn’t… you aren’t.”

“I know,” she put her fingers to his lips. “So you’ve got a lot of studying to do. You should probably get going.”

Steve swallowed, met her eyes and saw a flash of the pain that he’d caused but maybe that she’d dealt with in pieces long before him.  _ You aren’t the first,  _ she’d told him once and he remembered how angry she’d been, angry enough to knock him off his feet and angry enough that he’d spent his entire break feeling lower than pond scum. Hurting her once was hurting her one time too many. 

“Steve,” she said calmly, sliding her thumb over his lips. “I want to. God, it's not like I don't think about you all the time. I… Steve, I think you are incredible. But I’m not easy. And I’m not going to make it easy.”

“Natasha, why?” he asked weakly.  _ Why _ was she talking to him, _ why _ was she wasting her time, when she could get any other guy. She was smart and beautiful and funny and the world was her goddamned oyster. She frowned when he asked it, looking almost pained. She didn’t answer, not in words, instead slipping her hand into his, squeezing it tight. 

“Go home and study, Steve. Come by tomorrow and we’ll go over the quiz again.”

She kissed him one more time before opening the door to her dorm room, pressing her forehead against the door like there was more she wanted to say. Steve held up his hand for a wave and then walked backwards away from her, bumping into a trashcan and earning himself a hot face and another giggle from her. This time, he smiled back, unable to stop himself, stomach doing all sorts of flip flops. 

***

_ -Did you talk to her? _

Steve looked down at Bucky’s text and put his pencil down. He thought about ignoring the message, first of all because he had incentives to study and second of all because he didn’t want to jinx anything. He’d already answered a small handful of questions from Sam, who finally admitted Helen in Dorm One had sent him pics of the entire coffee shop confession on Snapchat. Bucky didn’t even  _ know _ Sam, but Steve wasn’t sure Bucky wouldn’t be able to sleuth around and find out anyway so he picked his phone up and sighed. 

_ -I did.  _

_ -??? _

_ -And I’ve got to study, can’t talk _

Bucky responded an hour later with a cat meme, which Steve figured was Bucky’s way of letting Steve have the space he was asking for.  Steve figured he’d at least dodged further questions that he didn’t want to answer, His body forgetting to breathe every time he remembered her lips or the way she’d hung on him as he walked her home. He was afraid to jinx things, afraid to send the text he wanted to send ( _ yeah, I talked and she listened and somehow maybe things are almost okay except not and it’s a little confusing and thinking about it gives me panic attacks). _

His mental resources, he reasoned, were better focused on actually studying instead of thinking about it, about her perfect lips, about the sound of her rich laugh or the way she smiled. (And that she smiled because of him! He’d made her smile! And wasn’t that the most addicting thing, watching her smile, the action making him feel like he could fucking fly and when he saw her again, if he could just get that smile, maybe things weren’t so bad after all…)

Steve groaned and opened his textbook. He had incentives for burying himself in his book, even without her saying she’d go out with him if he brought his grade up. Because at the end of the day, he had to bring his grade up. Because at the end of the day, Steve was nothing if not good at school. And this class was just a prerequisite. It shouldn’t even be that hard, he reasoned, because the possibility of getting anything less than an A was not acceptable.  _ This is my major,  _ he huffed.  _ And I’m losing it over a girl. _

He found a bright blue sticky note with her neat handwriting, explaining the difference between two key terms he’d confused. She’d explained things calmly, not giving him the impatience and sarcasm he’d given her when he was in her position, when he’d assumed she was slow. He could listen to her all day, she was so damn smart and sharp and when she explained it, it made sense and he couldn’t understand why he’d missed so much for the quiz. 

_ You know why. Get your shit together, Steve. _

Steve rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. She’d said she would go out with him, that she’d gotten his flowers and when she’d kissed him, it was like a religious experience. If he didn’t pass the next quiz, it was only because he kept replaying the way she felt against him and the taste of her mouth. His body thrummed just thinking about her and he would probably be jerking off just to blow off some steam instead of thinking about math, if Sam wasn’t right next to him playing games on his computer. 

_ Priorities _ , he reminded himself, picking up his pencil. She was giving him a chance and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers without a fight. 

***

_ -How’s the studying? _

She texted him later and he considered it a sign that it was time to stop for the night.. He’d reached that threshold of not really retaining anything more, of just staring at words and numbers on the page anyway when his the vibrations of his phone stole his attention away. 

_ -I’m getting it. Hard to focus. _

Her next text was a photograph of herself, a casual smile into the camera that brightened an otherwise dark picture. A selfie taken in her own dorm room at night, barely lit except for the orange glow of the lamp by her bed, as if she hadn’t planned it. As if on impulse, in secret, something sent only for him to see. She was wearing glasses, thick brown frames that took his breath away because he’d never guess she wore them, and her hair was pulled back to expose her throat.  The glasses made her seem more human, more approachable, more normal. He considered the possibility that most people would never know or see her wearing them. 

She had sent a picture just for him. The intimacy implied in that made his chest tighten.

Steve looked over his shoulder at Sam, who had long since gone to bed, blanket pulled over his head. She’d sent him a picture and he didn’t know how to respond, but he didn’t want to explain to Sam why he was suddenly wheezing. 

_ -Thinking of you _

Her next text interrupted his panic about how to respond and his thumbs fumbled over the letters as he tried to think of anything to say in return. He typed five different things before he finally sent a quick,  _ you’re perfect.  _

_ -Need help studying? _

_ -Does saying yes compromise my chance to see you? _

She responded almost immediately and then he groaned so loud Sam threw a pillow at him. 

- _ I’m wearing a red bra. Tell me the answer to the first question on the study guide and I’ll send you a pic.  _

“Holy fuck,” Steve choked, bending into the desk, his chest tight and his mind dizzy because he couldn’t believe his eyes, couldn’t believe Natasha Romanoff, who he was still partly convinced hated him, was  _ sexting _ him. 

He didn’t answer immediately, partly because he was in shock and partly because he was scrambling for the study guide and his notes. He half-thought she was kidding until she sent a second selfie, this time one shoulder to the t-shirt she’d been wearing pulled to the side, a lacy red strap peeking out against pale skin. 

Steve wanted to burn the image of her into his memory, lips parted seductively, fingers touching that bra strap, eyes looking into the camera like they were looking at him. Like she wanted him to answer that question correctly, like she wanted  _ him _ . 

She met his correct answer with one last picture and he fell out of his chair. The kind of thing he’d only ever seen on the internet and he’d suppose that those breasts weren’t even hers if he didn’t recognize her pink mouth at the top of the frame.  Steve was hit with an avalanche of  _ want _ . He wanted to ask her if there was a catch, if this was some way to get back at him for hurting her. He wanted to tell her that this was easily the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, but he was also suddenly hyper aware the likelihood that whatever he said would likely fuck everything up. He wanted to find out what the skin peeking out from that red bra tasted like, felt like. He wanted to print out the picture and fucking frame it. 

_ -Oh God _

- _ Pick me up tomorrow before class? ;) _

***

When he knocked on her door the next day and Maria answered, he for a second expected her to laugh in his face, to be told that it was all a joke. Natasha’s roommate smiled and waved, slinging her purse over her shoulder as if Steve being there was normal. 

“She’ll be right out,” Maria said, standing aside as if to let Steve in and he furrowed his brow, his feet glued to the floor because the idea of going voluntarily into Natasha’s room was just too overwhelming. 

“I’ll just wait out here,” he explained, hoping he didn’t sound completely hapless, and she smirked. It unnerved Steve and he tried not to wonder if this was because he had opted to wait outside or because any other man would jump at the chance to go into Natasha’s dormroom. He bit the inside of his cheek and stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, in attempt to stop thinking about it. 

“You’re a gentleman, Steve.”

He shrugged, his eyes catching Natasha’s red hair as she moved between Maria and the door. Red. Her bra was red. He had photographic proof,  _ Jesus Christ.  _ Steve tried to keep his eyes on her face, to keep his thoughts proper. Did Maria know? Had she been there the whole time, giggling as Natasha texted him? His instincts said no, his throat closing up again at something that was truly meant just for him.

“Ready?” she grinned, grabbing his arm without any thought, and he watched her roommate for a reaction. A smirk or an off-hand joke about how Natasha was slumming it with one of the math nerds. ( _ She is a math nerd _ , he reminded himself, refocusing his attention back on the girl who was looking up at him.) A reaction he didn’t get because Maria was too busy putting together her own backpack to give any fucks about her roommate’s social life. 

He didn’t answer, letting Natasha guide him toward campus, his mind repeating over and over the wish that she’d hold onto his arm forever. She didn’t bring up the texts she’d sent and he didn’t know if he was supposed to or if the rule was to keep in covert, unspoken. What was he even going to say except that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

She sat down at her usual spot in class, looking up at him with the expectation that he might as well sit next to her. And halfway through class, he looked her way and noticed the way one shoulder of her top had slid down, revealing a lobster red strap, a strip of elastic that ruined his ability to concentrate for the rest of the lecture. 

When the professor asked for questions, she always raised her hand. Always answered with confidence and ease. Steve couldn’t believe she had paid him to give her answers she could have probably recited in her sleep, useless study tips that stroked his own ego while she listened and pretended to play dumb. 

It bothered him that she’d paid him, that he’d taken her money. She wasn’t charging him when the tables were turned and he actually needed her, first to pass and later because sitting beside her in a study carrel at the library was the kind of thing he thought about all day long, his thoughts on how soft her skin was and the way she smiled at him. 

She smiled at him the way no other girl ever had and he believed her that she was being honest but he couldn’t shake the guilt and the shame that she had paid him unnecessarily. 

It reminded him of how jealous he’d been. 

It reminded him of all the conclusions he’d jumped to. 

He couldn’t figure out how to give it back and she’d never brought it up, never asked for it. She printed her notes neatly in a plain notebook and when she pulled her glasses out of a leather case in her purse, the lenses making her green eyes bigger, he had to shut his own before he said something or did something embarrassing.  Her eyes- flecks of brown and blue in the green- they looked at him like he was  _ something.  _  And when she reached under the desk to grab his fingers or lean into him, he didn’t for a second feel awkward or like skin and bones. He felt amazing and alive. 

He wanted to slid a finger under that red bra strap. Not in class, of course, and not when he was supposed to be listening to the professor so that he could take her out. So he pushed his own glasses up and thought about how he would possibly repay her. 

***

_ -Best gifts for a girl? _

_ -Eat her out _

Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky’s response, even as he thought about what it would be like to kiss Natasha there. They hadn’t done more than kissing but every kiss made him ache and he spent a lot of time in the shower after study sessions, heart pounding out of his chest as his release splashed onto the tile at his feet and visions of Natasha ( _ her lips, her tongue, the way she tasted _ ), overwhelmed him. 

They’d only kissed. Stolen kisses in the library or against the door to her room. Once she’d sat on his lap in between quiz reviews and wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips on his in a way that was probably illegal in a library. He’d been so hard then, even when he tried to think about baseball and Sam snoring, and she’d pressed her forehead to his with a small smile before sliding off. He’d excused himself, all but rushed outside to gasp for air, lungs burning, and when he came back, she’d held his hand for the rest of their session. 

He started to type something out when his phone vibrated, a text from Natasha herself. 

_ -Quiz tomorrow, wanna see what I’m wearing _

Steve clenched his fists, dizzy at the question and convinced she was trying to kill him. Before he could type anything affirmative, he got a message. Another pic, like the one with the red bra. This time, she was posing in front of a full-length mirror, her cream-colored cell phone case the focus of her attention but definitely not his. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he groaned, looking over at Sam, who was laying in his bed, his big Beats headphones hopefully blocking out the coronary Steve was sure he was having. 

Steve knew what this was. This was Natasha Romanoff sending him proof that she wasn’t real. That she wasn’t just a supermodel-slash-math-major but also a literal angel. His eyes swept over the photo- her matching moss green bra and panties, the way the demi cups made her breasts full or the trail of her flat stomach and below. There were little black bows- little promises, he decided- one in between her breasts and one right below her belly button. 

She was an innie. 

He wanted to kiss her there. He’d never before thought that a woman’s belly button could be a thing but when he closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his palm against his erection, he thought about his mouth over those breasts or on the cloth of her panties, his tongue dipping into her belly button. 

When he pressed zoom over her stomach, his eyes caught the raised scar just above her hip, the discoloration of flesh that told a story. A flaw that she was sharing with him, that she displayed boldly and fearlessly. He wanted to hear the story behind this flaw. 

_ -Natasha, I’m dying.  _

What else could he say, it was the truth. 

- _ In a good way? _

There was no way to be sure, not just in words on his phone, just how sarcastic she was being. But he’d spent the almost an entire school year trying to figure her out, to figure out how much she wanted and how much he wanted of her, and he’d never been more motivated to get an A in his life. 

- _ Take her somewhere special. Girls like when you spend money.  _

Bucky’s text was an unwelcome interruption and Steve cursed at his poor timing even if he had given decent advice for once. She’d said he could take her out once he got an A. Somewhere nice and maybe he’d be able to pay her back. 

- _ Thxsoundsgood _ , he typed quickly even as a screen popped up to let him know he’d gotten another message from Natasha.

_ -hate to think I’m distracting u from studying _

He scrambled with his clumsy thumbs, wishing there was a better way to tell her that he had never in his life seen anything more perfect. That he almost thought she was photoshopped except for the imperfections like the scar, that he saw her converse on the floor in the background and knew it was really her, that he’d study all night and cheat if he had to, in order for her to keep talking to him. 

_ -Natasha, I’ve never seen someone more beautiful in my life _

- _ I could say the same _

She answered quickly and Steve felt his face grow hot, his defense mechanisms on overdrive because it was just inconceivable that she’d even think he was anything more than skin and bones and the definition of a loser…

_ -Ace the quiz tomorrow, take me out after  _

_ -I’ll try _

_ -There is no try _ , she texted back with a little red angry emoticon that made his stomach flop around like he was on a roller coaster. 

_ -did u just quote yoda _ , he asked, ready to tell her he loved her just for that little omission. Her next text was a red heart and a quick “go study.”

He did, breaking every few minutes to rehearse the conversation in his mind, his body hot with frustration. When he stopped to lay down, he thought of Bucky’s suggestion and all of the different places he could take her that were special. A nice restaurant, some fancy club where he’d feel horribly out of place. His own ideas of comic book stores and late night showings of old movies felt out of reach and he wished he could know her more and better.

***

She’d finished the test. Steve could tell when he saw her in the corner of his eye, could tell that after fast marks and flipping through the booklet, she was done because she’d sat back and was twirling her pencil. 

He refocused on the words on his own page, the answers coming easier this time than the last. He wasn’t usually nervous, not before exams. But this one had high stakes and so even when he knew he had the answer, he still went back and double-checked. His mom had sent him to a child therapist once, an older woman with white hair and long skirts, had taught him this weird breathing technique using four breaths in and out. When he got to the end of his exam, he thought about it and breathed, the redhead at his side not helping at all. 

She stood up behind him, her paper over his when he turned it in and he didn’t think he could even look at her until he did. The rest of the class was busy still with their own exams and so she just smiled, kind and not smug, like she’d had no doubts he’d pull it off. When she excused herself quietly, he followed, his mind on all of the different versions of taking her out he’d thought up.

She stood, leaning against the wall outside the class and so fucking cool, her eyes bright when she saw him.

“What did you think?” he asked, even though he knew she’d had no problems with the test questions at all. 

“Come out with me tonight,” she answered. Steve turned his head, like maybe he’d misheard her or had heard wrong, because it sounded like she had just asked him out.  

“There’s a thing tonight, at this Thai place. Everyone wants to get started on the weekend with sake bombs,” she explained, one shoulder lifting up in a half-shrug like she expected him to turn her down. 

“It’s Wednesday,” he said without thinking, scrunching his eyes shut after because even he realized how dumb he sounded. She laughed. 

“It’s also college, Steve.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Right, but I haven’t even gotten my grade back yet…”

Natasha bit her lip, her smile so big he thought her cheeks must hurt. “Is that a no?”

***

It wasn’t. Steve said a breathy yes and agreed to pick her up at seven so that they could walk to the library to meet the rest of Natasha’s friends. And then he ran home and yelled into his pillow because he was going to go out with Natasha for sake bombs. 

He didn’t even know what sake bombs were. ( _ The sake bomb or sake bomber, _ according to Google,  _ was a beer cocktail made by pouring sake into a shot glass and dropping it into a glass of beer _ ). He also didn’t know what to wear for sake bombs,outside of his cargo shorts and plaid, the occasional ironic comic t-shirt underneath. 

_ -just bring ur inhaler, Stevie and don’t forget to drink water,  _ Bucky texted and Steve rolled his eyes because it was just drinks. Drinks with her friends. 

“You’re fine, just make sure you splash on some cologne,” Sam shrugged after clicking his tongue and smirking. “And try not to piss her off.”

“How?” Steve asked, groaning into his pillow. 

“Don’t talk?” 

Steve turned over so that he could stare up at the ceiling. Pack an inhaler, stay hydrated, wear cologne, don’t talk. He took a deep breath because he knew her, knew that this was not a big deal, that she wanted him to join because she liked him. Easy-peasy. 

Every deep breath and affirmation forgotten when he knocked on her door, cologne and clean clothes the least he could do, and she appeared. Her smile erased every coherent thought, simultaneously cruel and delicious.   

“Ready?” she asked, turning to lock her door. Her hair was looked so soft, so shiny and he wanted to loop her curls around his fingers. He curled his fingers into his jacket and nodded, walking beside her with his tongue between his teeth so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by spouting out how perfect she was. 

“Just… kick me if I act like a dick,” he stammered and she rolled her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked. 

“I promise I will kick you if you act like a dick.”

Natasha’s friends meant Maria and the spiky-haired blond who met up with Natasha sometimes. They stood beside each other, both on their phones, until they realized that Natasha was there and then both were laughing, which only unnerved Steve more. The blond held out his hand, friendly and natural. 

“Steve! I’ve heard a lot about you! Too much, in fact. About your hair and your art and your jokes and…” her friend grinned, voice trailing into a yelp when Natasha punched his shoulder. 

“This is Clint,” she rolled her eyes. “And you can ignore him.”

Steve couldn’t, of course, ignore that Natasha was talking to her friends about him. He touched his hair self-consciously and smiled weakly. The practiced smile, finetuned over the years, that said “It’s cool, I know I’m a dork. I know what I look like.”

“Oh my God, it’s true though,” Maria chimed as the small group walked toward the parking lot. “It’s all I heard about through Christmas…”

Steve’s cheeks burned, Natasha’s grip on his arm tightening and when he looked over she was smiling like she’d been caught. 

“Thanks guys, so much for confidentiality,” she sighed, her fingers touching his. 

“I mean, he does have a nice ass…” Clint added with an exaggerated swoony sigh before unlocking his truck. 

“What?” Steve asked, bare audible, before being pushed toward his own car by Natasha. 

“Oh my God, you guys are assholes,” she called out before pushing him against the passenger side door so that she could stand on her toes and press her lips to his. “Well they are…”

“You’re perfect,” Steve repeated, breathless. 

***

He didn’t know what to do or how to act but she grabbed his hand under the table and stole bites of his pad thai, the literal only thing he knew to order off the menu of the dark restaurant. The group talked about campus life, small talk, and Steve answered what felt like a hundred questions about his life back home. And it seemed… normal. The girls did two rounds of sake and giggled the entire time and he wondered if Natasha was feeling the effects because her face was flushed and she’d brought his hand over to her jean-clad thigh. He decided it would take an act of God to get him to move it, his other hand flitting to his pocket every now and then as if to double-check that he still had his inhaler. 

“Take me home?” she asked when Clint and Maria had stepped out, Maria holding Clint’s hands and a predatory look in her eyes. 

“Of course,” he agreed, briefly filled with forlorn because this meant he had to move his hand in order to drive. He snuck a puff of his inhaler while she was buckling her seatbelt and died when she turned on the radio and started singing.

“This song reminds me of the Arcade,” she sighed fondly and he smiled to himself, because the techno beats playing were reminiscent of an old-school game and the hours he’d spent wasting time on the weekend with Bucky and a pocket full of quarters.  

“I bet you played a lot of ‘Dance, Dance, Revolution’,” he grinned, letting the tease slip. She scoffed and when he looked over, she was passing him a playful “you’re crazy” face.

“Skeeball?” he asked hopefully. 

“No, you’re right. ‘Dance, Dance, Revolution’ was my favorite,” she admitted. “In fact, there was a contest about five years ago. I won.”

Steve thought of a younger, teenage Natasha jumping and twisting and laughing, He had no doubts it was adorable and amazing. “You won what?”

“A trophy! An honest to God trophy,” she smiled, her face lighting up from blue to beautiful gold as they passed streetlamps. “I have it, I’ll show you.”

Steve shook his head and when she pulled him toward her dorm room, he followed, thinking the entire time that she was amazing and brilliant and that he’d been so stupid to nearly lose the chance to be with her, that if she was somehow playing him, he’d let her. 

“Yeah, it’s right here,” she announced after throwing open the door, oblivious to the fact that he was frozen to the threshold, awkward his hands in his pockets and his gut somersaulting over the pad Thai. He saw the shadow of her, stretching up on her toes to reach something she’d put on a shelf by what he figured was her bed, and then she was back, switching a light on and her hand holding a little metallic statue and Steve inhaled because he recognized the lineart of the Brooklyn Bridge on the wall at the head of the bed. 

She’d asked for that once, he remembered, and he’d given it to her even though he’d felt embarrassed at the time. In her room, it looked like art, like it belonged next to the taped up photographs and the basketball game stubs and the pom poms she’d probably picked up for free in orientation. She’d kept it because she  _ valued _ it. 

Steve knew then that whatever he gave her had to mean something, had to mean something to him because he’d treated her like shit and never wanted her to feel that way ever again. She smiled holding up her small arcade trophy and he thought of the one place he could take her to show her she mattered to him. It was stupid and lame and Bucky would probably kill him but…

He blurted it out fast, not wanting to think about it too hard and she gasped when he was finished, her eyes sparkling and her mouth opened in the most perfect way, her answer in a heartbeat, an affirmative ( _ ohmyGod, holy...yes! _ ) 

“Go to Comic Con with me.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my teeth hurt this is too fucking sweet and probably hella lame


	4. Establish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only working on this wip and I'm working to finish this one in the next two or three days. ughghghg
> 
> Also, smut lite in the beginning.

The thing about Natasha, the thing that both frustrated and also left Steve breathless was that you couldn’t tell her anything. Being around Natasha meant being along for the ride. It meant, when they played fooseball in the student center, that they played to the death and that she was always ready to go one more round whenever she lost. It meant sitting next to her while she got into heated debates with Clint about whether or not immigrants should be allowed drivers licenses and then holding her later while she talks about moving the the US when she was seven. It meant hours of Pokemon Go and watching in awe as she camped beside the gym next to a fountain at the mall and what felt like throngs of high schoolers tried to dethrone her and her Gyrados, (he didn’t even know how she had not one but three except that she had worked out some kind of magical pact with God for her eggs).

This was how Steve found out he was her boyfriend.

Things between them were good. So unbelievably good that he had to remind himself that she was serious. She continued tutoring him and he had all the motivation in the world to keep his grades up, to study without her. First because he didn’t want to disappoint her but a big, huge second because of the way she teased him for every right answer. It was the best form of operant conditioning, his rewards long kisses with her curled around him on her bed. The best part was that even when he got the wrong answer, he somehow ended up with her lips on his and his fingertips brushing trails along the gooseflesh on her arms.

“How are you even real?” he asked once, when she’d sat on his desk, his hands on her thighs and paper everywhere.  They’d been reviewing key terms for the final but he didn’t miss the way she eyed Sam, who had been “leaving for the dining hall” for thirty minutes, fucking around on his phone and chit chatting about classes and doing anything but giving them peace and quiet. By the time he’d left, Steve got one word in, about to ask her about theory before she was moving from the bed and shoving his study guide over, stray pencils hitting the floor. Steve was sure his jaw was on the ground next to those pencils but she tipped his chin up with her fingers so that she could kiss him.

“Break?” she asked and he nodded stupidly. And Natasha pulled her hair down, tossing the clip she’d been using onto the bed, before spreading her legs, the pleats in her skirt fanning out and the darkness visible beyond just basically stopping his heart.  

“I was thinking,” she said slowly, looking at him under eyelashes. “If I flew in maybe a day or two before the con, I could meet your mom?”

Steve swallowed and tried to think through what she was suggesting and what it would look like for his mom to meet her. He imagined Sarah Rogers making awkward and goofy comments about what a good boy her son was, Sarah Rogers taking pictures, Sarah Rogers _showing_ Natasha every embarrassing picture. And where would she even sleep? It wasn’t like they had an abundance of space and his ma would die if a guest slept on the sofa.  

“Steve, I’m your girlfriend, don’t you think I should meet your mom?”’

She said this like she was reporting basic fact, like it was as obvious as the sky was blue and he sat back in his chair to look up at her because he’d never in his life imagined someone, let alone someone like her, calling herself his girlfriend.

“Natasha, are we…?” he tried not to stutter. They were spending time with each other but what was the correct definition of dating? How many dates quantified a relationship as a relationship? The possible answers were varied and made his head spin.

She put her bare feet dangled and kicked against the desk and when he looked, he saw a glint of hurt in her eyes. Even though she was smiling, it hurt, reminding him too much of how his past mistakes. “Do you want to be? What would you call this?”

“No, I want to,” he fumbled. “I mean… do you really want to? Really?”

Natasha smiled, lips tight like she was holding back a laugh, and she leaned forward. “Steve…”

“Because I'm sure you have better candidates available. You know, big muscley guys who make you laugh…”

“Steve,” she rolled her eyes, though he felt better that she was still smiling. “You make me laugh.”

“Really? How? I’m allergic to everything and I need to use my inhaler just when I look at you and I know I make this weird clicking sound with the back of my throat because Sam says it drives him crazy…”

He stopped talking when she moved her toes to his knees, flexing them along his thighs. And then she told him to shut up and he swallowed because she had the same look in her eye that he saw when she was about to break a rule or win a game or something very good and also a little bad.

“Truth or dare?” she asked slowly, grinning, and Steve inhaled, his body very much responding to the close proximity to his dick. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and met her eyes, double checking that this was even happening. Truth or dare? What kind of girl even was she to ask him, Steven Grant Rogers, this kind of madness? The kind of game played at slumber parties in lesbian pornography which he most certainly never clicked through on his laptop with the audio on a whisper so his mother wouldn’t hear in the room over. He didn’t know which answer to even choose, because what if he picked the wrong one? If he picked truth and she wanted dare, or worse if he picked dare and she wanted truth?

“Dare?” he asked, his voice lilting at the end and his eyes on the pout of her perfect mouth. She raised an eyebrow and grinned like she was impressed he’d gone there. “Come on, Nat. You know I hate losing…”

“I dare you,” she announced before he could finish. “To touch your girlfriend.”

She may as well have been announcing the directions to his immediate and blissful death.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure Sam was not coming in before grabbing her ankles. He’d said, after all, that he hated losing and it was the truth. If she wanted to play games, he would be right there with her. His thumbs skittered instinctively around her ankles and she laughed. It was like music. “Natasha, I…”

“Just don’t tickle me or I’ll kick you in the face,” she said, spreading her knees again and damned if he didn’t catch a flash of white between her thighs..

“Your turn. Truth or dare?” Steve swallowed, letting his fingers walk around her calves. Her legs were as soft as he’d hoped and he wanted to follow the trail with his fingers, hoped she’d give him permission to do so one day. She lifted one leg, toe pointed and brushing up his chest. Steve didn’t let go, even when she had an ankle on his shoulder. She was so close, the tension between them like nothing he’d ever felt before, and then he did press his lips to that ankle. “You’re really...flexible…”

Natasha moved her leg back and slid down, legs on either side of him and her body pressed against his. He was hard, had been since she’d moved to his desk, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out because there was no way to hide it, not with her against him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and met his eyes, her own wide open as if unsure and checking to make sure it was alright. Steve wasn't sure what to do with that hint of vulnerability, vulnerability he was certain she was showing only for him.

“Truth,” she whispered, voice gravelly, and he put his hands on the small of her back. She was there, with him, as herself. Not the pretty girl who looked so cool and had a million friends. Not the projection of the stuck-up and shallow coed who that he'd put on her. As Natasha, quiet and nerdy and honest. He loved her. He wished he could be as honest for her in that moment.

“Who was your first?” he blushed and looked down. “I mean. That's a gross question. Wait. I mean, who was the first…”

Natasha laughed again and he watched as her own cheeks flushed. “I don’t have a first."

Steve double-taked, cocking his head to one side because there was just no way, he must not have heard or asked right. There was no way she was a virgin just like there was no way she was pressing down on his dick or no way she was rocking her hips, so slow that he might think it unintentional. Except that there was nothing about her that wasn’t unintentional.

“Natasha,” he croaked, his throat dry, and he studied her face for signs that she was lying. She shrugged.

“I haven’t met the right one, Steve. I was hoping, maybe you…”

“Are we talking about sex? Natasha?” He asked every word as a question, his mind trying to compute everything. “Because this conversation is looking more and more like something I dreamed. Did I hit my head? Can you pinch me?”

She did, pinching his arm until he drew it back. “Yes, we are talking about sex, Rogers. Don’t act so surprised…”

Steve blinked and shook his head. “Natasha, no. I’ve learned my lesson. I just don’t understand…”

Before he could keep sabotaging himself, she did two magical things. First, she kissed him quiet, her tongue sinful against his and he forgot anything he was about to say. And then she bore down and this time when she rocked her hips, he knew it was on purpose.

“Just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two,” she said, her voice low and throaty. He couldn’t help but clutch at her shirt and when she shivered above him, he shivered too. It was dangerous to have her there, so dangerous and he gasped for air, trying to find the words to tell her she should probably move before things got embarrassing.  

“Truth or dare,” she asked him again, her breath heavy. He couldn’t think, couldn’t think and didn’t care because he was going to come in his pants. Because the sexiest girl on the planet wanted to be his girlfriend and was just a pair of panties and his jeans away from being completely bare. She looked so beautiful, so lovely and he wanted her to feel good, wanted her to keep going and taking whatever she needed.

“Fuck,” he scrunched his eyes shut tight. “Natasha, this is gonna get weird in a minute, fuck.”

He chose dare at the end and she raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips together in such a way that he thought she looked like she was planning something.

“Dare you to feel me up.”

“Holy shit and cheese and crackers,” he sighed, his heart pounding in his ears and hurting his chest. “Holy...Natasha, oh my God…”

She bit her lip and grabbed one of his hands. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to…”

He did. Steve wanted to. She met his eyes with her own and he knew she wasn’t playing him but how was she to know that this was the sort of thing he’d never in his wildest dreams imagined the opportunity to do. Natasha Romanoff asking him to feel under her shirt. Natasha Romanoff dry humping him in his dorm room while his roommate was getting something to eat. Natasha Romanoff asking to meet his mom because she was his girlfriend. He couldn’t believe his life.

Her breasts, even just through the lace of the bra he couldn’t see, felt perfect. His thumbs traced the skin just above her bra and she moaned, her breath shaky and her breath in his ear. When he squeezed, she sighed.

“Okay?” he asked and she nodded. Feeling bold, he reached underneath her skirt for her thigh.

“Oh,” she whimpered. “ _Oh_ …”

“Natasha, I’m…” he warned, dizzy and she moved her hips harder, almost like she was dancing. The pressure was too much but he wanted more. She hissed and kissed him, out of breath and sloppy and then she was shivering in his arms again, a little cry escaping that completely ruined any chances he had at being a gentleman. He came in his pants, hot and messy and his face flushed and his ribcage tight, and instead of feeling embarrassed, he laughed.

It felt good. He felt good. He felt alive.

Steve kissed the top of her head and shuddered, thinking of the miracle that had just happened. “You really wanna stay at my house?” he asked minutes later when they were still making out and smiling at each other and their big secret. “I mean… as my girlfriend?”

***

The plan pre-too-good-to-be-true-hot-girlfriend, had been comic-con with Bucky. It was something that Steve had been planning for over two years. Not because he cared about Star Wars or cosplay or celebrity panels, but rather for the actual interest in comics.  Flimsy leaflets that told stories of heroes and men he wished he could be.  Sagas across universes of unlikely heroes who fought bullies and got the girl. Legends of courage and strength and humility. Slivers in brightly colored cells that there was hope, even for him.  

Bucky was in it for the show. The girls who walked around in skin tight catsuits and the variations and lengths that cosplayers went to. Or at least that’s what he claimed, emphatically nonchalant and uninterested if anyone asked. Steve rolled his eyes every time because he understood that Bucky was trying to play it cool, trying to convince the world that he was really just going because he was best friends with Steve. He was just an outsider, going to watch what happens when thousands of nerds get together in a convention hall, just because he was curious. Steve rolled his eyes when Bucky pretended like he didn’t have a lightsaber in his bedroom or that he didn’t marathon Star Trek when he broke both arms in a skateboarding accident two summers ago.

 Even though he pretended he didn’t care about it, Steve knew he wanted to go. He knew when Bucky casually mentioned the participants in a certain panel or when he said his mom had gotten them a Groupon for some pizza place near their hotel. He wanted to go and he’d be devastated, albeit quietly, if Steve even suggested he stay behind and let Natasha take his place. Steve couldn’t do that, which was exactly why he’d scraped together his funds and forfeited his own original plans for some of his own con-related goals so he could pay for her ticket. (A plan that was connected to another messy detail that Steve had anxiety over. Telling his mom that he was bringing a girl and that she was going to stay with them).

The other, obvious option was for Steve to suggest the three of them share a hotel room once they made the four hour drive upstate. Steve had hives when he thought about sharing a room with _Natasha_ , and he knew she wasn’t going to bring the topic of this up, that she just assumed that was what they were going to do. He pictured waking up with her, watching her get ready and all the girly products he knew she’d bring, imagined all of the dirty things that could happen in a hotel room as if a hotel room was some kind of alternate universe. Once they crossed the threshold into hotel beds and hotel spaces, they could do anything. Anything like do what they’d at his desk again because she was his _girlfriend_.

They couldn’t do anything if Bucky was there.

No kissing, no tongue. No smelling her hair. No nervous feeling of the soft skin of her stomach and up to her breasts, _and maybe she’d take her top off and he could see what he was feeling, could maybe even taste…_

The thought had Steve half-wondering if Bucky could just sleep in the car. He sighed and pulled up the website for the hotel where they planned to stay. The easier choice would be to pay for a separate room. He’d take it out of the funds he’d been saving for the Artist Alley because even though he’d planned on getting a Red Sonja commission, the thought of Natasha’s breasts was a bigger priority.

The whole thing felt very convoluted.

Steve didn’t realize even how convoluted and messy until he was sitting in the car at the airport with his mom, his wallet on his lap as he looked for bills to give her for parking.

“Oh put that away,” Sarah Rogers scoffed, turning the car on. She was looking good and he sighed, quietly relieved. She’d been sick when he was in high school, breast cancer that had taken all her wavy blond hair and her appetite. The hair grew back but she couldn’t drink Sprite anymore and he couldn’t forget waking up in the middle of the night because she was sick in the bathroom. Things had been shitty for a long time. There had been a quick minute of even the thought that he’d lose her, that he’d lose his mom before he even graduated, and then she’d gone into remission and eventually gone back to work. She was a hero and a good mother, pushing him out of state for college when he wanted to stay because he needed to see the world. He hated that he always kept an eye out when he saw her for traces that she was sick again.

He hoped she wouldn’t be put out about Natasha, hoped she wouldn’t be weird about the fact that her son was actually social and even better, actually dating someone. Her skinny sickly boy who had been bullied in middle school for the dent in his chest and his awkward and shy quiet. Steve who hadn’t gone to prom because he said he’d rather stay home and play World of Warcraft but who had also spent the entirety of the latest semester at college going out with Natasha and her friends on school nights, and then making out in his car later with the windows fogged up.

“Steve,” she coughed, a wry smile on her lips as she focused on the road ahead of them. “Winnie Barnes told me some very interesting gossip. James said something about you and a girl?”

His face grew hot and he looked down at his phone, sneaking a peek at the picture that Natasha had taken of the two of them, the one she’d saved as his home screen wallpaper. The one where she was sitting on his lap and had her eyes crossed and he’d buried his face in her neck because he was laughing until he couldn't breathe. The con was in ten days, not even a full two weeks, which meant she’d be flying in and waiting for him to pick her up in eight days.  Yeah, there was a girl. Definitely.

“Actually, Ma, I…” he started and she looked over, melting his heart and filling him with a confusing mess of embarrassment and pride and excitement and doubt. It hit him that he’d never talked about girls with his mom before, not counting the birds and the bees talk she’d given him in the sixth grade, the one where she handed him some pamphlets and a condom. Even when the neighborhood was gossiping about the Barnes boy and the scandal he’d caused with Mrs. Heeley and her daughters, Sarah’d never sat down with Steve to lecture him. Perhaps she’d never felt she had to. Steve thought about Natasha and wondered what his mom thought about him having a girlfriend, if she’d ever thought she’d see the day at all.

“She’s actually…” he continued, looking down.

“So there _is_ a she?” His heart jumped at the hopefulness in her voice.

“Yeah, there is a she,” Steve announced. “And she’s actually going to go to the con with me and Bucky so…”

Sarah squeaked and he didn’t miss the excited way she bounced in her seat. “I’m going to ask some questions in seconds, Steven, because I want to know everything about this girl and why you haven’t told me about her and where she is from and if she’s nice. Is she coming here?”

“No, don’t..." he sighed, his cheeks burning and a smile so big it hurt his face. “She is? Coming over? The day before…”

“Steven Grant, and you only gave me a week to prepare?” 

“Eight days, Ma, more than a week…”

 She huffed and said some words before grilling him on Natasha’s favorite foods and rambling about the carpet stains in the living room. “And where’s she sleeping? I suppose she’ll take your room, Steve and you can…”

“Sleep on the couch, Ma. I got it,” Steve promised gently, happy to see her excited and relieved that at least one complication was resolved.

“Are you happy? Is she a nice girl, Steve? Are you two being safe? Do you need condoms?”

Steve scrunched up his face and groaned. “Ma, yes she’s nice and yes I’m happy. Ma, I’m not talkin’ to you about this.”

“And you don’t be a selfish boy, Steven. I know talk to way too many teenage mothers who say their boyfriends left them once they started having sex.”

“Ma! Christ, I’m not… we already had this conversation, Ma…”

Sarah reached over and patted his knee. “I know, Sweet Pea. I just don’t get the chance to have this kind of talk with you very often. Let me have this.”

“Ma, she’s great and I’m not… We aren’t… Ma, I’m not having this talk with you ever, okay.”

Sarah pursed her lips to hide a smile as she flipped the turn signal on, eyes still straight on the road. “Is she sharing a room with you and James?”

Steve gnawed on his lip, “No, just me.” 

She squeaked again and when he looked up he saw that her face was just about as red as his. “Well, you’re almost twenty-one, Steve. So just. Buckle your seatbelt, okay?”

“I know, Ma,” he said, swiping his finger across his phone again so that he could see Natasha’s smile, the butterflies in his stomach flitting around like the assholes that they were.

***

Bucky waited three seconds before busting Steve’s chops about Natasha.

“So, how are you doing, Loverboy?” he teased, punching Steve’s arm lightly, not even in fully in the door to the Rogers’ apartment. “You look like she’s making a man outta you already. Got a little hair on your chin?”

Steve rubbed his arm. “Hello to you too, asshole.”

“So you gonna try to see her over the summer or what?” Bucky asked, walking through the living room to Steve’s bedroom like he lived there. And in some sense he had, countless sleepovers and “can Bucky stay for dinner” during the eighteen years they’d grown up together. Steve hoped his friend wouldn’t feel like a third wheel, wouldn’t be pissed that Steve had invited a girl to join them.

“Yeah, I am gonna see her at the end of the week, Buck.”

Bucky, who had already tossed his body atop Steve’s bed, and who was already flipping through the channels on Steve’s TV, narrowed his eyes and slowly looked over. Steve swallowed because even though he knew that Bucky was happy for him, he also didn’t know how Bucky would take the news that their original con plans were altered.

“We are gonna leave on Friday, Steve…”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “And she’s kinda coming with us.”

“Kinda?” Bucky sat up. “Explain.”

 "She’s flying in on Wednesday and we are all driving out on Friday.” Steve leaned against his door and stuffed his hands in his pockets, picking nervously at the lint balls in his jeans in case Bucky wasn’t actually okay with the new plans. “I sorta asked her…”

Bucky shook his head. “Man, does this mean we have to drive four hours listening to fucking Taylor Swift and stopping every five minutes so your girlfriend can pee?”

Steve grimaced. “I don’t think so. Anyway, mom’s car so I’m driving and that means I get to pick what we listen to…”

“And where is she sleeping? Steve, she isn’t sleeping with us. I’m not sharing a room with you guys.” Bucky shook his head and shot Steve a warning look.

Steve sighed, the lint forming soft little balls he could fit under his nails. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I got you your own room actually? Or her and you and I can share….”

Bucky held up his hand to quiet Steve. “Hold on. You want me to choose between sharing with you, who gets up fifty thousand times at night, or having my own room? Let me order room service and you got yourself a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a spiritual need to finish this.


	5. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arghgh. One more chapter. I'm sorry. I'm the literal worst.

_ SR: My mom wants to know if you eat meat _

_ NR: Awww ofc  _

_ SR: She is drving me crazy R u sure u want to come _

_ NR: I miss you stop it _

_ SR: ..... _

_ NR: [attachment.jpg] _

_ SR: Holy shit Nat I’m on my laptop  _

_ NR: I really miss you _

_ SR: fuck i don’t deserve u  _

_ NR: r u alone send pics _

_ SR: ha i don’t want to break ur eyes _

_ NR: [attachment2.jpg]  _

_ NR: I really want to see my hot bf send me smth don’t b rude _

_ SR: f  uc Km _

_ NR: im wanna see _

_ SR: … _

_ NR: pls _

_ SR: … _

_ NR: ❤︎ pls ❤︎  
_

_ NR: Steve? _

_ SR: just a sec, Nat  _

_ SR: Im going to hell delete this _

***

Steve stood by terminal exit and held his breath as the crowd ebbed and flowed around the departures and arrivals. Faceless people pushing suitcase trolleys or dragging rolling suitcases as they hurried to baggage claim, sometimes stopping to hug family, every time focused on their ultimate destination.  Clutching the foil wrapped grocery store bouquet of flowers, he hoped he wouldn’t accidentally miss her. 

“What if she isn't coming?” he asked Bucky, who was standing next to him, looking through the crowd even though he had no idea who he was looking for. Steve hadn’t even shared a pic, guarding her as some careful and miraculous secret. Bucky, who only knew to look for red hair, looked at Steve like he was crazy. Even without seeing her face, he said he knew she’d never be the kind to do that. 

Steve didn’t think so either, not that it helped the sense of doom that stomped through his mind and wouldn’t let him breathe. Because even though he’d talked to her just a few hours earlier and even though she’d texted him not even fifteen minutes ago, it was like his body was in panic mode. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten how soft her skin was or the way he felt when she put her head on his shoulder, as much as that he was thirsty for her at a cellular level. Literally parched and anxious that he’d never feel satiated again. 

_(He was also excited. Excited and bouncing on the balls of his feet because she was coming to see him and be with him and he couldn’t wait to drive her around town and show her all the places that meant something to him)._

“She’s coming, Steve. Stop sweating and breathe.”

Steve nodded and was about to ask Bucky if he could check the baggage claim when he saw her. It hadn’t even been two weeks since the last time he’d had the chance, which was funny because he let out a contented sigh because she was there. 

Finally. 

“Where is she?” Bucky asked when he realized Steve was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Steve didn’t miss how wide his eyes got when he saw her.  The only redhead in sight and it filled him with a bit of pride that she was his.  The leggy girl who looked like she was probably famous or belonged in a magazine was looking through the multitude for Steve Rogers. Her eyes met his and she bit her lip, her smile bright enough to light up Manhattan. He felt like he was in a movie, except as the hero and not the comic relief. 

“Close your mouth, Buck,” he smirked, standing a little taller and puffing out his chest because fuck yeah, she was his.  When he took his biggest strides to her and she was in his arms, she said  _ his _ name and kissed  _ his _ lips. 

“I made it,” she sighed, her smile of relief and her arms clutching him so tight.

“I can’t believe you are here,” he said into her ear. He didn’t want to let go, the universe around them long invisible and his throat closing up so that he could barely talk. He’d officially lost his mind for her and when he spun her around, he swore her feet even lifted off the ground just a little and she squeaked. He’d lost his mind for a girl, lost it kicking and screaming and he never ever wanted to let go. 

“So this is the girl Steve won’t shut up about,” he heard Bucky say,cutting through the moment. Natasha hummed against him and he couldn’t help stroke his thumb up and down her arm and the soft leather of her jacket. Was he that bad? That he never stopped talking about her? He handed her the flowers, feeling so sheepish and caught because even if he tried pretending he was cool, Bucky would never let it go unsaid that he was also under Natasha’s beautiful and perfectly manicured thumb. 

“Are you Bucky?” she asked and Steve watched the different emotions flash across his best friend’s face. Steve knew Bucky, knew he was sizing her up and that he wouldn’t hesitate to say something if he thought she wasn’t being authentic. At the end of day, it still was what it looked like and Steve knew anyone walking by would assume it wasn’t Steve she’d flown miles to see. 

“I might be,” Bucky admitted, raising an eyebrow and Natasha shrugged. 

“My grandmother made  _ ponchiki _ . Russian donuts? I brought them for Bucky as a peace offering for crashing Comic-Con…” She gave Steve a quiet but knowing smile and tugged on his arm. Not that winning Bucky over would be hard, but baked goods were a wise first step. 

“Ma’am,” Bucky held his hand out and flashed a smile, smooth like butter. “M’name’s James Buchanan Barnes but some call me Bucky.”

_ A very wise first step.  _

And then Bucky was walking behind them while Steve helped her with luggage, busying himself on his phone in effort to provide some much appreciated space.  Perfect because she didn’t want to let go of his hand and he thought if she did, he’d float away into the sky. They held hands, only letting go to let travelers pass or when he nearly fell on his ass pulling her suitcase off the carousel, and he’d never felt happier in his life. 

***

Steve’s mom hugged Natasha when she met her. Actually hugged her, arms around the younger girl tight and her energy happy as if Natasha was some long lost family member.  Steve watched quietly as his mother beamed, as she investigated Natasha’s flight and if she was hungry or jet-lagged, as she reminded Natasha to ask if she needed more towels and to make herself at home. 

“Your mother must be so worried. Make sure you call her and let her know you are going to be taken care of while you are here,” Sarah emphasized after she’d pointed out the doors to the bathroom and Steve’s room and reminded her that she just had to ask if she needed more towels.  Steve was bringing her suitcase to his room when he paused to watch them talk, to watch as Natasha smiled, ruefully close-lipped. 

“My grandmother actually. But I’ll let her know and thank you.”

Steve watched as his own mother’s face fell, the entire scene tugging at his heart, as she apologized if she’d touched a sore subject. Natasha shrugged and the flash of pain on her face reminded him yet again that she was so much more than who he’d pegged her to be at the start. He knew she’d come from Russia as a kid, knew she was sensitive about it, but he didn’t know much more about why, didn’t know where her parents really were. He made a note to ask her, hoping he was worthy of the secret. 

His mother patted her back and smiled, filling Steve with love and gratitude. It was nice, watching them talk and get to know each other, in a way he would never have anticipated. And he loved Natasha more, loved watching her charm even his mother the way she charmed everyone. The way she’d charmed him. 

“So this is your bedroom?” she smiled later, sitting back on the bed and resting on her elbows. He looked around and tried not to stop breathing because amidst the mathlete trophies and ribbons from school, amidst the comic books and the old baseball from his dad and the moss green lava lamp, there was a girl on his old twin bed.  A girl on the dark blue duvet he’d had since middle school or the power ranger sheets below it that his mom refused to toss out.

(That he didn’t want to toss out either). 

(He wished he’d gotten something newer and worthy). 

“You ever bring a girl here?” He watched with his knees weak and she looked all around, bottom lip in her teeth. 

“You’re the first one,” he admitted and she bounced a little on the bed, the springs squeaking and his face burning because he knew his mother was probably listening from the kitchen as she made lunch. “I didn’t have a long line of volunteers...”

Natasha sprawled out along the bed, kicking her flats off, her shirt riding up when she raised her arms above her head to stretch. “Their loss because it’s a great bed.”

“It’s an orthopedic mattress,” he offered because it was, something his mom had saved up for because it was sensible and he needed a good night’s sleep. Natasha smirked and patted the space next to her. 

“Come over,” she said, her voice adorably authoritative and who was he to say no. He nodded, looking over his shoulder to make sure his mom wasn’t peeking in. And then he softly shut the door for good measure, holding the door knob so he could control the sound of the click. And then he slipped off his sneakers and she giggled, rolling her eyes and patting the bed impatiently. 

“I’ve missed you,” Steve sighed and slid across the hardwood floor, clumsy and clamoring into the spot beside her. She giggled some more and then she was quiet, her arm flung over his body and her lips were on his like heaven. Steve let his head fall on the pillow, let himself just enjoy the slow tease of her tongue and the feel of her heart beating against his chest. 

“Amazing,” she purred. “I love this part, love…”

He slid a trembling hand to the skin of her waist, fingers drumming against the small of her back and she whined, the sound of it like a whip through his body. He bucked up against her, so hard and wanting, and it was like every other time they made out but ramped up a notch because his mom was in the next room and the poster of Einstein on the opposite wall stared at him with an accusatory expression he couldn’t decipher. 

“I’m putting Bucky in his own room at the con,” he said quickly, hoping she wouldn’t think him to presumptuous. When she pulled back to meet his eyes, he gauged that he’d done right because she was breathless and smiling. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, swallowing.”I mean… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course not,” he shook his head and then she kissed him again, her hand moving from his chest down to his pants. 

“Natasha, I’m going to… my mom,” he protested, looking up to see Einstein’s smirk ( _ attaboy, Rogers. Welcome to manhood _ ). She curved her hand around his dick and he arched his back, the air leaving his body. And he felt so conflicted, because he didn’t want to come this way, wanted to save it all for when they were really alone, wanted it to be special…

“I can’t wait,” she panted and he thought he might start crying, the pressure unreal. Her lips were the perfect pink, her hair tangled in one of his hands, and when he moved the hand on her back to her ass, she quaked against him. They could, he thought. They were close and they could even pretend it didn’t count. It didn’t count if he slipped his hand under her jeans to feel the silk of her panties, his palm pressing down on one cheek. It didn’t count if he was fucking up into her hand and she was whispering  _ oh God  _ and he was sure Einstein was getting a good show, two virgins awkwardly trying to get off. 

“Natasha, I wanna wait. Until the hotel,” he groaned and she whimpered. “I don’t wanna… you deserve for it to be perfect…”

“Okay” she agreed, even though she was still gripping him and he moved his hand to her wrist. 

“I mean it. You deserve the best and I don’t wanna be like any random guy…”

Natasha pulled back, looked at him like he was unreal and he immediately felt guilty for being so slow, for not being able to handle the affection she seemed to need. He wasn’t enough, he wasn’t experienced enough or smooth enough or…

“God, I love you,” she breathed and then he watched dumbfounded as she winced right after she’d said it, like it was something she shouldn’t say. And then she moved her hand and fell back, her head against the pillow and her eyes to his ceiling. “Shit, sorry.”

“Natasha, are you serious?” he turned so that he could rest on his elbow and process what was even happening. “Natasha, say it again?”

She sighed, her voice shaky. “I’m in love with you.  I don’t know if you feel the same. I’m not sure what you feel, actually, but I do…”

“Natasha,” he whispered her name and then said it louder, his heart exploding so much it physically hurt. “I don’t know why… you’re so perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Steve,” she rolled her eyes. “Stop that.”

“Natasha, I …”

He loved her. He loved her and believed her and wished he could bottle this moment up or freeze time. Her face fell and he realized she still thought she’d said something wrong, which was so wholly unacceptable. He nodded quickly over at Einstein before taking a deep breath and reaching for her chin. 

“Natasha, I love you too.” He said it quickly and then he dived in for her mouth, kissing her gently as he could and not daring to look up at her. He’d said it and he was terrified, of saying out loud that this was more than just her having a little bit of fun with him. This was more than just a bit of the popular girl slumming it with Steve. She reached up and placed her palm on his cheek and when he pulled back, it looked like she might start crying. 

“I mean it. I love you,” she repeated. “I can’t imagine a day not speaking to you, not being with you. I’ve tried. You make me feel so much more important than I am.”

“I don’t try hard enough,” he frowned and shook his head. “I’m sure there’s a more optimal boyfriend…”

“Steve, stop,” she begged and he covered her hand with his. He knew what she’d say, that he was being stupid and that he was exactly what she wanted. 

“I know,” he said quickly. “The fact that you love me even though mathematically speaking, you have better options...makes my heart want to fly out of my chest, makes every neuropathway in my brain fire and I’m probably overloaded with dopamine and oxytocin, probably should have it checked out because I’m sure it affects my judgment and reasoning. Christ, when I look at you my mouth goes dry and….”

  
She kissed him quiet again and he lost his train of thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No really. I only have to write about the comic con now and smut. So like. Really. One more chapter. And i'm not doing anything else (public and sincere apologies for the fact that this means i'm holding beta stuff ransom) (elcapitan_rogers is bae and i love her for her patience).


	6. Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like the Dead Sea_  
>  You told me I was like the Dead Sea  
> You'll never sink when you are with me  
> Oh Lord, I'm your Dead Sea  
> -The Lumineers, Dead Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: ...I could just update now and add to my chapter count...  
> myloveiamthespeedofsound: NO ONE WOULD COMPLAIN THO  
> Me: .... fuck...
> 
> it gets smutty. i guess you know this about me.

The night before the drive to the con, Steve’s mother handed him five twenties and a paper bag. He was so busy telling her he couldn’t take her money that he didn’t immediately think to be suspicious about the bag. Until he opened it and saw a trove of turquoise foil-wrapped squares, more than he thought he’d use.

“Ma!” He shut the back quickly and scowled, his face hot. Sarah rolled her eyes and patted his knee.

“Do you know how to put them on? We give these bags out to girls at the clinic all the time, it was no big deal at all for me to snag one for you.”

“Ma, Jesus. Ma, I don’t need your help with this…” He looked over his shoulder to make sure Natasha, who was in his room getting ready for bed, wasn’t accidentally listening. Holy fuck if she was. If his girlfriend was accidentally listening as his mother gave him a bag of condoms. “Ma, I don’t need a tutorial for this.”

Sarah shrugged and stood up. “Just remember that you lose more than virginity when you have sex with someone. Don’t break her heart. Don’t be afraid to unguard your own.”

Steve brushed her off, doing whatever he could to change the subject because there were just too many layers, too much realness in his mother’s advice. Sex was more than sex. He knew that, he’d heard that lecture before. But knowing with his brain and knowing in his gut were too different things, and this paired with Natasha telling him that she loved him made him feel shaky and even doubtful. He hid the bag behind his back when he heard Natasha in his room, his mom looking so smug. And even though he didn't think Natasha caught on or knew that he had a lunch bag of health clinic trojans in his backpack, _he_ knew.

It was a long night.

Even after the house was asleep and he was on the couch staring at the ceiling, his mind was on sex and the sex his mom was convinced he was going to be having.

_Don't break her heart._

 He didn’t hear the part about his own heart. That went in one ear and out the other, because the weight of Natasha was much heavier and more worthy. Steve  tossed and turned, the weight of this warning on his thoughts. He already _had_ hurt her once, was already miles short of who she deserved. He didn’t want to break her heart, didn’t want to do anything to make her cry.  He wasn’t enough and couldn’t do anything about it, could only be himself and hope she never changed her mind. Even if he went through some magic surgery, he’d still be the same guy who preferred staying at home instead of going out, who took calculus for fun, whose idea of romance was taking his first ever girlfriend and first for a lot of other things to a freaking comic convention.

 His chest tightened and he sat up, his gaze to his bedroom door. Natasha had said she loved him. What was almost as crazy and unbelievable was that he said he loved her back. And they were going to a hotel where the statistical probability of her giving him her virginity- of him losing his virginity- was significant. And as exciting as that  was, it brought up a host of new questions. What if he couldn’t perform? What if he came to soon? What if she hated it and this was the reason she dumped him. What if he scarred her for life and she dumped him and then decided she hated sex altogether and when she was a forty-something single woman with cats, what if she sat in her therapist’s office and said that the specific reason she hated relationships and men and sex was because she’d given her virginity to one Steve Rogers in college?

 Steve hugged his knees and practiced breathing, slow and deep. She loved him. Not counting the time she’d pretended to be stupid, she hadn’t ever lied to him. And no matter what happened over the weekend, he loved her back.

***

Bucky arrived the next morning with a styrofoam cooler of cream soda and bottled water, a bucket of Twizzlers, and the mandate that he control the radio.

 “Steve, when we get there, are we gonna go to the pool? God, I haven’t been swimming in a while…”

 Steve opened the door to let his friend inside and shrugged. “I dunno, I hate swimming.”

 Bucky rolled and handed Steve the twizzlers. “You know I can pick you up and throw you in…”

 “If you throw me in, I will tell every girl there about how you wet the bed until you were seven,” Steve warned, putting the candy on his mother’s kitchen table so that he could grab both his backpack and Natasha’s.

 Bucky laughed  and waved as Steve’s mother and Natasha walked in. “I dunno what you are talking about, Steve. I never…”

 “Natasha, did you know Bucky wet the bed until he was seven?” Steve interrupted him. Natasha smirked and patted Bucky on the back.

 “Guess it’s good you’ll have a bed to yourself then.”

 Bucky’s mouth opened and closed, temporarily conceding defeat.

***

As road trips go, a four hour and change road trip up north hardly counted as an actual road trip. Bucky’s family went on real road trips, the kind where one sits elbow into sharp elbow with one's’ sister and plays i-spy with license plates while one’s ma sits in the front and sings ‘the Wheels on the Bus’ because the kids are bored and Rebecca is car sick and no one brought the batteries for the Gameboy. (And even if they did, there is only one Gameboy and not one but three sisters to share with).  On a real road trip, Dad picked the music and if anyone said it was too loud or too boring or too old, he turned it up louder.

It was a fact: on roadtrips, someone peed in their pants, someone ate all the Twizzlers, and someone invariably fell asleep on someone. (Steve went once with Bucky to his grandmother’s house and sat next to four year old Rebecca, who was the one to do all three).

Bucky explained the rules of the road (no peeing, no stopping for anything, and absolutely no Taylor Swift) but he did concede the back seat. “It’s fine, just keep it PG up there,” he said, stretching out across the back, his legs taking up too much space and his arms resting on the seat backs. Natasha pulled a Twizzler out and started sucking on it, her lips pursed around in like she knew it would make Steve's face red, and then she raised an eyebrow and gave Bucky her most innocent face.

“Not a lot we can do with you as our capable chaperone,” she said sweetly. “Besides, I was hoping you had stories of Steve as a kid…”

“You bet your ass-not-that-I've-been-looking-Steve I do,” Bucky said in a rush, suddenly so excited he was bouncing off his seat. “In fact, it's my duty as capable chaperone to tell you all about the time Steve got locked in a library for an entire weekend…”

“Shut up,” Natasha said in disbelief, her hand moving to Steve's over the gear shift. “Didn't you have a cellphone?”

Steve looked off the road to their hands and then back to the road, suddenly afraid she would move her hand. “I...it wasn't a whole weekend. Just one night.”

“Yeah, but you woulda stayed longer,” Bucky said, his words almost swallowed by his laughs. “Your ma was ready to make t shirts and go on the news when you texted her to come pick you up because you were hungry.”

Natasha squeezed Steve's hand and handed him a piece of candy, her eyes all over him like it was actually cute that he had spent the night working on an extra credit AP History report…

“That he didn't even need! You had the highest grade in class, Steve!” Bucky howled. Steve nodded, _yeah, yeah but you never know,_ all the while not missing the way Natasha stroked over his knuckles and the spaces between or the way she hummed when Bucky talked about Steve's anal retentive grade anxiety even when he was younger.

“I'm teasing,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his stomach like he’d just spent the past hour laughing. “But Steve really is the best guy I know. So you know, _mazeltov_.”

Natasha hummed her approval and Steve hated that he was surprised, hated that he was still waiting for her to change her mind.

 

***

Standing in the hotel lobby, Steve felt like he was literally being pulled apart, stretched out like his arms and legs were invisible rubber bands. Never, not when he moved away for college for the first time, had he so felt the weight of being an adult. He stood next to Natasha and Bucky and he knew he wasn't the only one wide-eyed and drinking in the site of bellhops and the varied travelers who would also be spending the weekend with him.

“We just need a credit card on file for incidentals and to cover the resort fee for parking, wifi, and access to the swimming pool,” the front desk clerk, a woman whose name tag red Doris and who had candy red hair and crow's feet, said. She didn't even look up at Steve which was mind-blowing. Not even looking at Steve Rogers, this _kid_ who was checking into a hotel room…

“Is it the honeymoon suite?” Bucky asked, clicking his tongue and winking at Doris. Steve coughed and he got faint but Natasha leaned into Steve and laughed.

“That's bad luck, Bucky. We aren't married yet!” She grinned, her cheeks so rosy as if this was the truth and Steve shook his head fiercely. This wasn't..not that he didn't want but…

“We just got engaged,” she added, pushing her hand into his back pocket like this was real. She was gushing and gorgeous and playing so perfectly along with what Bucky had probably meant as a quick joke.  “On the way here, I haven't even had the chance to call my mother!”

Doris smiled and took Steve's credit card. “I can't offer that kind of perk, Mr. Rogers, not with everything booked for the convention this weekend…”

Steve shrugged and smiled, polite and uneasy because the whole thing _was_ a joke and yet he was still caught up in thinking about why he _would,_ what about her he loved enough that he would ask her one day. He got caught up in the emotion of it, of what it would be like to check into a hotel room with Natasha as his wife and the whole thing gave him hives because he _was_ checking into a hotel room with Natasha, _oh God._

 _“_ Are we going to the pool?” Natasha asked him as Doris slid the room keys over and when he groaned, it came out like a low rumble, like someone who was literally dying because in all of his years he had learned through a lot of trial and a lot of error that he was not a swimming pool person.

“I didn't bring a suit,” he admitted. “And I'm allergic to chlorine.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky coughed as Steve handed him his key. Steve would be lying if he didn't for just a second think maybe the whole set-up was a bad idea, that maybe he should have had Natasha in her own room. “Later, ladies and gents, I'm going to check out my room. Text me the plan.”

Natasha did this weird smirk-smile, clearly not buying anything Steve was selling, and he should have felt indignant because if she was his girlfriend, wasn't she supposed to believe him? Even if he claimed allergy to chlorine?

“Well I am,” he asserted, defensive even as she pulled him to the elevators and pushed the button to go up.

“Why don't you think about it,” she smiled, leaning against him as more people and luggage filed in. As a gray-haired businessman with a briefcase slid in and looked forward. As a pudgy woman in purple capris and flip-flops carried her small chihuahua in her arms, the dog looking at Steve with narrowed and accusing eyes. Steve swallowed because they all knew, didn’t they? Just like Doris at the front-desk, that Steve and Natasha were there under the pretense of the comic con across the street. A shitty fucking pretense with that bag of condoms heavy in his backpack and Natasha leaning her head on his shoulder as they waited for the fourth floor.

“Breathe,” she whispered when they got off, again after they’d found their room and were standing outside. He pulled the little envelope with keys out and handed her one, feeling apologetic and stupid and so fucking small.

“If you don’t like it, I can get Bucky to switch with you,”  he said quietly, rolling his shoulders a little because he should at least be conciliatory.

“I want to,” Natasha said then, urging him to open the door. Steve held his breath and pushed the card in, counting to three in his mind after the light turned green, because it all felt scary and important and like his reason for living, even at a cellular level, depended on the weekend and whatever happened after this door.

The hotel room itself was dark, the drapes pulled mercifully shut and minimizing the effects of the clean room on Steve’s heart. He exhaled because it was just a hotel room. A basic two-queens and a tv room.

“Oh,” Natasha said quietly and he looked over to see her eyes sweep over the room, her bottom lip in her teeth as she stood in the doorway and studied her surroundings. Her chest heaved slightly and he imagined he could hear her heartbeat because this- whatever it was- was happening.

“Is it okay?” he asked her and she nodded, pulling her suitcase forward until she could rest it against the first queen bed alongside her purse. She exhaled, slow and controlled before walking over the open the drapes, the sound of it filling the room and hitting him like a punch to the teeth.

“I think,” she said, slipping her sneakers off and her eyes on him, “that this is great, Steve. And I think that we have time to go for a swim. So I will go put on my bathing suit and you can sit here if you’d like…”

“Natasha, I don’t swim…” he protested, slinging his duffle bag onto the opposite bed. She bent down to unzip her suitcase, the peek of colors and his imagination running wild at all the things she had inside and the peek into her life. It was clear she wasn’t going to try to convince him when she pulled out a black ball of what he knew was her suit.

“I brought my bikini, for your information.” She almost sang this news to him. Steve sighed, remembering so vividly that he’d told Bucky this wasn’t happening that morning.

***

Bucky could take  lessons on negotiation from Natasha Romanoff.

He was such a sucker, so transparent when she walked out of the bathroom in her simple black bikini, her legs for days and her breasts so perfect and round and _there._ Steve took one look and nearly fell off the bed before scrambling through his bag for a pair of shorts.

“The complimentary soap smells good,” she announced, so slyly not paying attention to his jaw on the floor. And then she bent down to pull her shoes out from under the bed, her ass covered in just a scrap of lycra, two little strings on the side that he could just pull. Steve didn’t know how, with that sight, he’d survive the weekend.

“Natasha, you look amazing…” he breathed. He didn’t want to stare, didn’t want to objectify her, and so he tried to move his eyes away from the shadows and contours of her breasts or the flat of her stomach and that belly button he’d spent months dreaming about.

“Let’s go then?” She looked smug and he should have known better when she’d first mentioned swimming because when did Natasha ever lose anything. He looked and felt like a disaster next to her, in just a white t-shirt and cargo shorts and those skinny white chicken legs, but she handed him a towel and he followed. Whether or not he belonged beside her, he knew better than to let the chance to see her wet in that bathing suit go.

The swimming pool was crowded, the hours for children still alive, the sounds of kids squealing and splashing echoing in the room.  Steve sat on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the cool water and watched as she dove in. She moved like a mermaid, he was sure of it, her body gliding gracefully under the water, the shimmer of her skin reflecting in the water, and her suit pulling him into a trance. He was so gone. So gone. When she came up and swam his way, her wet hair clinging to her skin and her smile a mile wide, he knew it as if he didn’t know it before.

“Come in,” she said, splashing him and he hesitated. He could hear Bucky ribbing him, could hear him saying that sitting on the sidelines was just ungrateful. But Bucky wasn’t Steve. Bucky was tall and confident and when he took off his shirt, he didn’t look malnutritioned and sick. So Bucky could judge Steve all he wanted but Steve knew historically that Natasha would take one look and change her mind about the whole trip.

“Come on, Rogers,” she pleaded, bobbing up and down in the water. “Get in and then we can go to the jacuzzi. Think of the bubbles.”

He got in.

She swam so that she was below him, her eyes so wide, and he pushed himself, sliding his butt in before he could think twice.

It ended up being the smartest decision he could have made because she wrapped her arms around his neck and he forgot about why he had been so afraid, her lips so close and her body weightless against him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded and so beautiful. And Steve understood buoyancy and the forces at work when she wrapped her legs around his waist and it was like _nothing_ , but it was also magical. The sounds of the other swimmers dimmed to a murmur with her in his arms, with him holding her up like she was a feather and like he _could_ , his limbs capable for once in his life.

“I can carry you,” he said, the words a little like a laugh because he couldn’t get the air he needed out. She let her forehead touch his and he thought it was one of the happiest moments of his life.

“So, what’s the plan exactly?” Natasha asked, her eyes falling to his lips. He kissed her, feeling like the chemicals of the pool were probably going to his head, and she smiled against his mouth when his fingers moved from the small of her back to play with string holding her bikini top on. Not because he wanted to pull, not with children nearby and definitely not without her asking him first lest she find one more reason to think he thought she was easy or…

“Steve,” she moved her legs so she was standing and then she slid her hands under his t-shirt so that she could put her hands flat on his back. “The plan…”

“Plan?” he stuttered, shivering as her hands pressed into his skin, at the covert _intimacy_ of the touch. She moved her palms under the heavy wet cloth to his shoulders and he thought it probably looked to everyone in the pool like she was trying to share his shirt or climb inside or he didn’t even know but he met her eyes and exhaled anyway.

“Plan for the con? Plan for us?”

“For the con? I mean, I was planning on looking at the comics honestly. I know Bucky is into the Star Wars lightsaber tech thing on Saturday but I really wanted to just wander around and look at the art. There’s a guy who does really great stuff and he’s not too expensive and…” he swallowed, slipping a finger under the knot in the middle of her back. She didn’t stop him, didn’t shiver or look around to remind him that he was being inappropriate and he lost track of what he was even talking about.

“And what about you and me, Steve?” Natasha asked, smug and he figured it was because she knew exactly what plans he’d made, knew all about his mom’s impromptu sex ed lessons and the condoms and the dirty thoughts he’d had about her since he’d first kissed her on the floor next to their textbooks and the oreos. “Did you invite me all the way here just so you could pop my cherry.”

The sound that came from the back of Steve’s throat was like a whistle and a whine. “Natasha, I… I mean, no, I really respect you and…well, I mean, if you wanted… I don’t know…”

She kissed him then, saving him from further digging his own grave, before resting her chin on his shoulder. “What makes you think I didn’t accept with every intention of popping yours?”

“Natasha, fuck…” he whispered and she pulled back, gliding so that she was almost floating on her back.

“I mean, I wanna see the lightsaber tech stuff too, Steve. But that’s what’s on my itinerary, just so you know.”

It took the frontal lobe of Steve’s brain five minutes to reconnect his tongue to his thoughts, which was just as well because in that time, Natasha swam away, leaving him feeling wonderfully fucked.  Just as well because Bucky found them and reminded them about dinner and walking around town and before Steve could protest and say _hey, actually I have some big plans right now to enter uncharted territory with Natasha Romanoff_.  She walked up, a white hotel towel wrapped around her body, and announced that she could in fact eat.

 

***

Dinner was hamburgers and fries at a diner across the street. The kind that served strawberry milkshakes in metal tumblers and exactly the kind with jukeboxes at each table. Bucky fished out some quarters and played “Sex Machine” by James Brown on repeat, laughing into his ketchup drenched fries and Steve couldn’t decide if there were any subliminal messages that he needed to hear or not. But then he put his quarter in and _I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day_ filled the speakers and Natasha put her head on his shoulder and he felt warm and maybe even confident.

His confidence wavered when they returned to their room, of course, when she shut the door and turned to him, her back against the wood like she could get out and run if she needed to. And he expected her to look as confident as always, the same confidence she’d had in the pool or any other time, but she looked quiet and thoughtful, less hungry or mischievous, less smug. Steve stood by the bed, hands in his pockets because he wanted to walk up and bury his hands in her soft red hair, wanted to kiss her, wanted to follow through.

“Hi.” She said it almost _shyly_ and he took a tentative step toward her.

“Are you tired? We could rent a movie or…” he motioned toward the television and _God,_ he wished he knew what to say or what to do. Even with a 4.4 GPA and an eidetic memory, he didn't know the moves or the words, couldn't fake the charm. She was his girlfriend and she had confirmed it, that sex was on her mind at least as much as his.

“A movie sounds good,” she smiled and moved away from the door. “We have those Twizzlers.”

“Right,” he said, picking up the remote for posterity. “Right, well, and I can take this bed, unless you want it.”

 Natasha grinned. “Or, as an alternative, we could both sleep on that bed.”

 “That's...viable.” Because it was viable. _Damn_ viable.  So fucking viable, it might as well be considered fact.

 “So I’m going to go to the bathroom and put on my pajamas,” she slipped off her sweater and toed off her shoes, her eyes never leaving him.

 “I’ll do the same,” Steve nodded, still clutching the remote and his mind only able to sputter out the words _sex, sex, sex_ over and over. She smiled again and he thought maybe she could hear his thoughts.  Even after she’d disappeared into the bathroom, he couldn’t get the idea of it out of his mind.  She loved him, she was with him, and they were going to have sex. Steve Rogers was actually going to have sex. The energy around the word was so high, so thick, that he could barely stand let handle putting on pajamas.

 She knocked before she came out, asking if he was decent, and he held his breath when she appeared. A tank top and red flannel pajama pants with blue snowflakes all over, her red hair swept into a bun. That by itself was a sight but she looked so fresh-faced, her glasses replacing the contacts again and no traces of makeup and something inside his chest squeezed tight. He must have been staring because she laughed and sat on the bed, crossing her legs pretzel style.

 “Right, movie,” he nodded and sat beside her. “A movie in my pajamas with my girlfriend who I've thought about every night since last September.”

 “September?” Her brow shot up and she leaned back on her elbows, her breasts suddenly in the air, reason number one that Steve looked away. “Steve, I wasn’t your girlfriend in September.”

 Steve shrugged, still sitting on the edge and feet dangling off the bed. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it. About you. Even when I told myself I was stupid for doing so.”

 Natasha moved so that she was on her knees, up to his height and face to face. “Steve, you aren’t stupid.”

 He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah there’s a reason you asked me to tutor you in Math, Natasha.”

 Natasha wrinkled her face in mock outrage. “Steve! I was trolling you, oh my Lord. Or did you forget?”

 Steve hadn’t forgotten, couldn’t forget when he’d figured it out or how stupid he’d felt for not realizing sooner, and he swallowed before he asked her something that had bothered him ever since. “But why, Natasha? You coulda just talked to me…”

 “I could have, maybe,” she conceded. “But you wouldn’t have taken me seriously. We had freshmen seminar together, not that I think you remember because the class was so huge and Maria and I sat in the back so we could…”

 “What?” Steve couldn’t believe he’d missed her, couldn’t believe that he’d not realized, even though it was true that there had been over two hundred in that class, easy. “Natasha, you stand out and light up the whole room, it’s impossible for me to have missed you.”

 Natasha shrugged and touched his hand with hers. “Steve, I used to just watch you. I don’t even know what that class was about because I used to sit next to Maria and watch you.  See, at first I was just impressed because you kept to yourself, because you sat next to Sam and wrote everything the professor said down. I watched, you wrote down everything.  And you used to ask all these smart questions, the kind that flustered the teacher, and I just…But to top it off, you are so fucking beautiful, my God…”

 Steve scoffed, his mind somersaulting over her admission.  Natasha furrowed her brow and kept talking.

“But don’t you… Steve, you are. You don’t see it because you are also so fucking stubborn but you are. Fuck, you carry so much power in that body that you think is so awful. And your lips and your fucking eyelashes and your long fucking fingers.” Her voice wavered and she moved even closer, her hand on his chest.

“You think you are the only one who has thought about this?” she continued. “Steve, I am with you because I want you. I am sending you pictures of myself and throwing myself at you because I think about you too, about your mouth and your fingers and your arms and you laying me down on this bed and making me feel as perfect as you always do.”

“Natasha,” he protested because he couldn’t believe it, that stubborn part of him still not believing.  The part of him that _remembered and remembered vividly_ that she could not possibly want him because she was who she was and he was who he was.

 “Shut up,” she snapped, following that up with her mouth on his. “Shut up, Steve. I want you, I love you, and I am here with you.”

 He kissed her with his whole heart, he couldn't help it.  And when she sat back, pulling his shirt, he had no choice but to follow her down. He thought, as he put one hand on the curve of her waist and slid his tongue against hers, that he was getting good at this. At kissing and touching and losing himself in the way she tasted or the way his lips felt sore and chapped after. She tossed her leg over his and moved close, hips already bucking against his, and for once, Steve’s thoughts seemed to slow down. For once, instead of thinking he might die or feeling the blood rush through his veins or the pressure in his chest tighten, it was like a switch was flipped. Like all the times they’d made out were different somehow than this time, this time when they were in the alternate universe-magic portal of a hotel room.

 His hand went under her tank top to the soft skin of her side and she shivered, her body pressed again tight to his. This was good, this was something that they had mastered, his dick responding to her breath or the way she sucked on his tongue and her leg pulling him close. And then just as his fingers brushed over the scar that she’d never explained, she pulled back and sat up, her eyes so fucking dark.

 “Hey,” she said, the heat in her voice just too much, and right when he was about to say hello back, she lifted her tank top over her head and he sighed. Her breasts were there, round and pale and tiny pink nipples standing straight out, her chest heaving. It was amazing. Steve leaned back, head on the fluffy hotel pillow just so he could memorize the sight.

 “You are so beautiful,” he said. Natasha’s cheeks flushed and she looked down, incredibly like she wasn’t so sure, and it occurred to Steve that maybe this was the furthest she’d ever gone, that she was as nervous as he was. “I mean it…”

 She looked down and then shrugged, her bottom lip in her teeth like she was shy. “I thought we could...ease in.”

 “Ease in,” he echoed, nodding. “Right.”

 “Can you…? This feels awkward,” she motioned to his shirt and he swallowed, hesitating for only seconds. This wasn’t the pool and he understood quid pro pro, understood that it was only fair to be as vulnerable and bare as her.  As soon as he’d taken his shirt off, as soon as he’d tossed it on the floor, he wanted to put it back on, but he thought maybe she knew that because she put her hands on his chest and pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone.

 “Thanks,” she said, wiggling into his arms, laying back down beside him, and oh God, her skin against his, he didn’t know where to start or what to do at all. So he held her and looked down, his mouth open because her skin was flushed all the way down. Natasha’s fingers traced and along his chest, not missing the divot that he hated and then skimming all the way down past the sparse hair to his ribs as if counting each one. Steve clenched his fists until she grabbed his hand, helping her to cup the breast that fit in his palm.

 “Perfect,” he whispered because it was and she met his eyes.

 “It is.”

 Steve took a deep breath before gently squeezing, like he'd done before but maybe not as hard as he wanted. Natasha hissed and he worried he was too rough but when he put his mouth on the top, over the swell of her flesh, her breath picked up and he thought maybe he was okay. He wanted to lick it all, wanted to suck on her nipples and put his face in the space between just so he could take the smell of her in. Natasha slipped her hand along the top of his pajama pants and he whimpered, because there the words were again: _sex, sex, sex, sex._ When he licked his tongue out against the nipple that was hard on his palm, she gasped and bucked her hips into him and he felt so high because he’d caused that.

 “Can I..can we…” she huffed, her face red and then before he could answer yes to whatever she wanted, she kissed him again. Their glasses bumped and she laughed, stopping abruptly when he squeezed her breast again, so gentle because he liked how she sounded when she was gone.

“Natasha Romanoff, yes to everything,” he sighed and she grinned. The mischief in her smile was a tell he’d missed because he was still stuck on her breasts when she slipped her hand into his pants, fingers wrapped right around his dick without any preamble.  He jumped and her eyes snapped up, wide and curious and he knew she wanted assurance that this was okay.  She had a tight grip and he whined. The technique was missing but it was still miles better than his own hand.

She let out a shaky breath and he shut his eyes tight as she gripped him, letting his own hand push past her snowflake pajama pants and the thatch of hair that guarded the spot between her legs. She stilled, her breath heavy, and he moved further, his middle finger sliding into the hot space between her labia.

“Holy…”

“Fuck,” Steve completed her sentence. “I… tell me how.”

“Me too, I’ve never…” Natasha stammered, her hand moving up and down slowly in a way that burned just a little, not that Steve was going to stop her. He was already dribbling out, already so fucking close, but he moved his free hand into his pants and over hers.

“Like… this,” he said, guiding her into a rhythm, root to tip, showing her the flick of the wrist trick until he was fucking into her hand. Natasha, for her part, was so very wet, so hot and so much better than anything he’d ever imagined. She pressed her hand against him, her fingers pushing his deep inside as she moved against his wrist, and Steve wanted to say something smart or kiss her even, but she looked so amazing when she was falling apart and there was no chance he’d not follow her, not when he was so close.

He picked it up, picked up what she wanted when she moaned and tried to move impossibly close, riding on the two fingers he was pumping in and out, in a slow rhythm that reminded him very much of his dick and what he wanted to do because oh he wanted to, wanted to lay her down and press into _that_ , get more of _that._

Not for nothing, it seemed like she was picking up on his cues as well, learning fast enough what would work not that it was hard, not with how easy he was for her. And all she had to do in the end was shiver, little whispers tumbling from her lips _(fuck… fuck… Steve…oh fuck, I’m...)_  and he was coming, hot on her hands and everywhere else and his brain like jelly.

And then they were calm, hands still awkwardly there and not moving, until she pulled back and studied her hand and his come, until she grabbed her shirt and wiped it off, her gaze so lazy and satisfied. And he’d done that, the power of it so addictive and he wanted more.

“So, tomorrow. The lightsabers,” she sighed, moving her head onto his chest like she didn’t care that he was a mess. He kissed the top of her hair and smiled to himself because he’d nearly forgotten about that, about the con, about Bucky, about everyone.

After he cleaned up, she curled back against him and they watched an old romantic comedy on HBO, and he fell asleep to the feel of crisp hotel sheets and her heart beating against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my girl by the temptations. steve would and i love him for it.


	7. Bravery (and Porn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and look at that, I finished a wip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative titles as suggested by friends: penetration, usage of dick, consummation, stick it in, dickin around...
> 
> help with the comic-con thanks to the girls in the romanogers chat. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who supported this story with the comments and art and feels and ugh. Thank you so much.

_The songs on the radio are okay_

_But my taste in music is your face_

_-21 Pilots, Tear in My Heart_

 

***  
When Steve woke up the next morning, Natasha was still there. Still with one leg draped over his and her arm clutching his side, her head still on his chest and her hair in his face. If he hadn’t woken up with his dick hard enough to break something, he certainly was there within seconds of waking up, the feel of her breasts against his skin doing nothing to help the situation. She was so warm and he was so acutely aware, of her breathing, of her nipples, of her leg’s proximity to his crotch. He held his breath and reached for his phone to check the time, hoping he could be stealthy and not wake her up. And he didn’t wake her because the sound of someone pounding on the door did.

“Hmmm?” she mumbled, her voice muffled, and he craned his neck toward the door, really not wanting to move even if he had to pee and even if they probably had to get moving very soon. He meant to ask her if she was hungry when someone knocked at the door again.

“Housekeeping!” the door announced. Steve groaned and Natasha wiggled against him like she had no interest in moving, which would have been nice enough but then she turned her head to him, resting her chin on his chest and he couldn't remember what he was even thinking.

“Maybe we could catch up with Bucky? Just miss the morning?” she asked, hopeful. It sounded like a good idea when she moved to kiss his skin and even better when he felt her hand slide into the waistband of his pants.

“I'm running out of clean pants, Natasha,” he whispered, his voice a needy whine. She grinned and danced her fingers along his length when the door sounded again, this time paired with the jiggling of the doorknob. It was what they both needed to pull back. Housekeeping was relentless, apparently.

“Let me just tell her to come back,” Steve said, face flushed because they had time. Screw comic con, screw Bucky, and screw pants because Natasha was lying in his arms, nipples pressing into his chest and fingertips drumming gently across the skin of his cock like she was interested in repeating the night before’s miracles. She pulled back and sighed, her hair a disaster and her bottom lip poking out in such a way that he had to kiss her quick before sliding out of bed.

“Hold on, just a second,” he called out as he took big steps toward the door, opening it just a crack.

“Fucking Christ, Steve,” Bucky said, standing outside the door with his arms crossed. “Are you guys coming or what. I had to pound on the damned door…” He stopped lecturing Steve long enough to peak on his toes over Steve’s shoulder.

“Bucky, you aren’t housekeeping,” Steve furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder. Natasha, naturally, was sitting on the bed, blanket at least covering the parts Steve thought he’d murder Bucky for seeing. Bucky looked at Natasha and then looked at Steve, before a slow grin spread across his face.

“Did you guys…? Steven Grant Rogers, you dog,” he winked and grabbed Steve’s shoulder. “Oh man, congratulations to _you_ …”

Steve shushed him, standing on his toes because there was no way he’d let Bucky see the view. “Buck, why don’t we meet you in the lobby…"

“Tell me all about it,” Bucky whispered. “Did you….?” He followed this with an obscene gesture with his tongue. Steve blushed, the very idea of his tongue on Natasha crazymaking because he knew what her skin tasted like, knew how she fluttered her eyes shut when she came and holy hell, what he wouldn’t give…

“Bye Bucky,” he said with a swallow as he moved to shut the door. “We’ll be right down.”

Bucky chuckled through the door. “Yeah, yeah just hurry up, Stud.”

Perfect timing because Natasha chose that exact moment to walk over, barechested and so beautiful it hurt, moving past him to the bathroom. She smirked, undoubtedly because his jaw was on the floor.

It took Steve five minutes to find a pair of clean pants and a t-shirt. It took Natasha considerably longer.  He busied himself by pacing around the room, flipping through the channels on the TV, and texting Bucky to ask for five more minutes. He was doing a half-assed attempt at making the bed when the door finally opened. It was worth the wait.

“Is it okay?”

She touched her hair, now considerably shorter, just hitting her chin. Gone were the shoulder length red waves, a pale pink wig that reminded him of bubblegum in its place. Steve was speechless, couldn’t help but stare. _Cosplay_ . Natasha Romanoff was a _cosplayer._

“You are a huge nerd,” he said, in awe and he hoped she took it as a compliment. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud but not the first time he’d had the thought, and he just couldn’t understand how it was possible to love more with every part of her he learned about. Popular Natasha who looked like a model and balanced a social calendar based on her sorority was the same Natasha who liked Doctor Who and cared about lightsabers and cosplayed. She pulled on the red necktie she was wearing, the one that completed her schoolgirl outfit.

“I can change. I just had the idea of…” Natasha looked down, seemingly unsure. Steve shook his head.

“Are you kidding? You look like Lucy…”

“Neko, I hope,” she blushed and walked past him to her suitcase, where she knelt down to pull out a pair of black boots and a black headband. One with actual black cat ears, the kind that were made of felt. “I used to read that manga when I was in highschool,” she confessed. “I like the story of this schoolgirl who seems like one person but she’s actually kicking ass at night.”

“I love you,” he sighed, moving beside her and interrupting the very erotic process that she’d started of zipping up her boots. She’d worn that pleated skirt again, his favorite pleated skirt and he thought of texting Bucky to say that the whole trip was canceled. “Natasha Romanoff, I love you, I’m never letting you go.”

She looked up at him, her expression wistful. “I know. Me either.”

***

They lost Bucky when the sexy BB-8 and her friends, Sexy Kylo Ren and Sexy Zombie girl, stood behind them in line for lanyards, giving Natasha an easy run for her money. BB-8 was wearing white thigh-highs and orange lipstick. Bucky dropped the discussion mid-subject with Steve and Natasha about lunch in order to turn around and ask BB-8 if she needed a Jedi tour guide.

This was just fine with Steve, who was more than happy to walk around with Natasha alone. He didn’t even have a specific plan, not anymore, other than walking hand in hand with her past booths and through the crowds. He was also sure he was missing more than half of the con just because he was busy thinking about her arm linked through his or the night they’d just had and what she looked like when it was just the two of them in their hotel room and she was whimpering his name.

They walked together through the different booths, the station with the movie costumes, the tiny replicas of movies he’d seen a billion times since he was a kid. Steve watched as she held her own, as she nodded like she’d seen those movies too, and he felt proud. And the best part, the most shocking part, was that he felt like they fit. When he caught other guys looking at her, their eyes all over her short skirt and those long legs, he didn’t feel jealous. He felt cool.

If anything non-Natasha stuck, it was Artist’s Alley, just as he’d expected. Pencil and paint and both well-known and new artists, all working to show off their talents. This was what Steve had saved for, in all honesty. The new and inspiring ways that someone could bring to life characters that had meant so much to him, characters that he’d disappeared into as a kid.

“Which one is your favorite?” she asked after they’d walked down one side. This was an impossible choice, he had so many of them. But he showed her the one he’d been thinking about for as long as he’d been saving to come to the con. The Red Sonja.

“I love her too,” Natasha grinned, pointing to a wall of Sonjas, each one showing her different levels of fierceness, of power, of eroticism. He’d be lying if he didn’t fantasize about that chain-mail bikini, responsible very much for his sexual awakening.  More than that, though, he’d grown to see her as a survivor, the best example of someone who could be beaten down and pull out of it, who could in fact take the power for herself.

“She’s incredible,” he sighed and she smirked.

“So you have a thing for redheads?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, pulling her close and kissing her cheek, her pink hair brushing against his face. “But I think I also love smart women who can probably kick my ass.”

***

When she was in the bathroom, he snuck by the jewelry vendors, his heart hammering in case she caught him and teased him for it.  He past the Tardis earrings and the Solo/Leia cuffs for the simple pewter geek pendants, the ones that were next to the steampunk pocket watches.  Bronze Tardises and messages spelled out in binary code. He supposed she probably deserved diamonds or something. Maybe one day, he decided wistfully.

He was hiding his purchase in his pocket when he found her standing by the ladies room, her cellphone in hand while two other guys in blue tracksuits were snapping pictures of her. He squinted, walking quickly toward her in case she was lost. His chest tightened when he watched her look over at the amateur photographers, watched as she scowled and told them to go away.

“Natasha!” He called out, feeling immediately like she was in need of rescue. She met his eyes and started walking to him, seemingly relieved.

“Let’s go? I think we missed the lightsabers?” she said, her voice on edge as she reached for his hand and Steve looked over her shoulder at her pursuers, tracksuits that were walking their way.

“Can we get a picture?” they asked, one tracksuit reaching for her arm and another one pulling his phone out. “We love your costume.”

“Cosplay is not consent, guys,” Steve said calmly, not missing that she’d moved out of their way and to his other side. Like they didn’t know, like there weren’t signs everywhere reminding people not to be assholes.

“Fuck off,” she added. “I already said no.”

They laughed and one sneered, saying how great it was she was so in character. Steve’s fists clenched and he looked around for security, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He wanted to get in their faces for her, wanted to fight for her.

“Just one, I’m sure your boyfriend won’t mind sharing,” the other tracksuit pleaded, reaching past Steve for her necktie.

It was a mistake.

Steve watched in awe as her fist met the other guy’s jaw, as he stumbled back into his friend, phones clattering to the floor and everyone giving the foursome a wide berth. They both looked shocked that she’d done anything though Steve knew from first-hand experience that she had a good right hook.

“I said fuck off,” she hissed, grabbing her fist. She looked pained, her face reddened, and Steve’s heart tugged for her.

He put his hand on her back gently, as if to guide her away. “Come on, Natasha. They aren’t worth it,” he told her, even though he knew it was a lie. That they were very worth it, that this was a battle impossible not to fight.

“We could have you arrested. For assault,” the punched tracksuit snarled, blood coming out of his nose. And Steve felt Natasha stiffen, could tell that it was taking everything in her to not go back to rip his arm off.

“It’s not like she’s not asking for it. She came here for the attention or she wouldn’t have gotten dressed up like that,” the other one argued. “Not like she’s anything more than another slutty cosplayer here to get noticed.”

Steve thought about his own history with Natasha, his own trajectory. Before knowing her, he might have thought the same thing. In some versions, he’d said that same thing. But he knew it was bullshit, knew she was more than her face. Knew she was as legitimate as anyone else, that she was more than her looks or the person she seemed to be at first sight. Natasha took in a sharp breath and he saw her face falter just for a second, and he wondered if this whole scene was some kind of cosmic coincidence to remind him of his past life as a complete and utter dick.

“Come on, not like she’s the only slutty Lucy Neko here,” the same tracksuit said, pulling his injured friend back. And this broke Steve.

Natasha gasped when Steve lunged forward, his own fist connecting to the other guy’s face. The other, bigger, guy who still crumpled to the ground next to his bleeding friend. He would have kept going but he heard Natasha say his name, felt her hand on his shoulder. He’d hit the other guy for her, for her honor, as a physical response to all of the lingering guilt he still felt about his own behavior. It felt good, cathartic, exhilarating even.  Steve stepped back and nodded to Natasha, both silently agreeing that it would be a good time to walk away and walk away fast. And he didn’t even start breathing again until they’d walked out of the convention center, until they were walking on the sidewalk back to their room and he realized she was quietly gasping for air.

And fighting back tears.

“Hey,” he said once they’d taken long strides to the elevator. She looked down, her face still flushed and he touched her elbow. “Hey, are you okay?"

She nodded, her eyes not meeting his and he knew she wasn’t, knew she was hurting for more than the fist she was holding. He wondered if she’d been as broken when she’d punched him. He reached out and pulled her by the waist so that she was leaning into him, her breath ragged as she fought to keep from crying.

He asked her again when they’d gotten inside, when she plopped onto the bed and hugged her knees, her red lips between her teeth and her eyes so stormy. This, Steve realized, was the aftermath that he’d not seen the first time around even though it was like looking in a mirror. This is what it looked like to be bullied and shamed, the only difference being that Steve might have slammed a door or thrown something before he sat down to fight tears.

“It’s fine, I”m fine,” she said quietly. Except that she wasn’t fine, not with the big tear sliding down her cheek. “I should be used to it.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Steve argued, sitting next to her. “It’s bullshit. And it’s wrong. Natasha, I am so sorry…” He touched his thumb against one tear and she smiled sadly.

“We all do it, don’t we? Judge people before we know them. But I wish...people weren’t such assholes,” she sighed, letting her legs fall to the floor. Steve reached for her hand.

“People are assholes, it’s true.” And he squeezed her fingers tight, his mind on the pendant in his pocket. “People are assholes.”

Natasha leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “You aren’t an asshole, Steve. You are a giant dork but you aren’t an asshole.”

“Ha,” Steve grinned. “The only time you’ll hear me and ‘giant’ in the same sentence.” And Natasha gave a sarcastic laugh.

“Not the only time, if you are as big as you feel.”

Steve rolled his eyes and when he turned to tell her she was mistaken, he found himself kissing her instead. She sighed again, but he took it to mean she was okay because she’d turned toward him, grabbing his shirt as her lips parted.

He could write a book on her mouth. On the way she slid her tongue against his, on the way she started off slow and turned hungry real quick. He could write an entire chapter on the way she sucked, on his tongue, on his lips, on his pulse point like she was starving. This was what make his body feel like it was on fire, a kind of addictive high that he just couldn’t stop chasing.

“You are so perfect,” he sighed and she stopped to shake her head, her brow knitted like he didn’t believe him. So he repeated it again, slipping his hand into her hairline, tugging gently to take off her cat ears and pull her pink hair down. She stopped for a second, like she was thinking over what he’d done, but then she was kissing him again and all he could think about was how much he loved her.

He thought, nerves through the roof, as he reached for her thigh, about Bucky. She moved toward him, like she wanted him to pull her closer, like she wanted him to grab her thigh and keep going. So he did. And he thought about Bucky and Bucky’s neverending advice to get between a girl’s thighs. He was so fucking nervous, so fucking excited, so fucking hard when he stopped kissing her to move down between her knees, on his own like he was getting ready for church. Natasha’s eyes widened and she bucked her hips up even before he’d done anything at all, like she couldn’t believe he’d even consider it, like this was exactly what she needed.

“You are perfect, Natasha Romanoff,” he repeated, kissing one knee, hands moving up and down her black cosplay boots. He pressed his lips to her other knee as he pulled the zipper down, his eyes on hers while he pulled her shoes off. She pointed her toes as he planted a small kiss on her ankle, kept them pointed as he moved his lips up her calf to the inside of her thigh. “I hate this skirt though.”

“You do?” she asked, breathless and he peeked up to the grey cotton at the apex of her thighs, little pink flowers spotting all over and innocently showing off the way to his undoing like a Christmas present.

“This skirt kills me, Natasha. It’s a crime, this skirt,” he murmured and she huffed, spreading her legs further, enough that he could see the damp gusset. He thought about what Bucky said, that this was the best way to show a woman you cared, and he thought about all the porn he’d seen, his singular prayer that he didn’t fuck it up, that he made it good for her. He wanted to kiss her there, to smell and taste that damp spot and what was behind it, to make her feel good for all the good she gave him. So he did, first sliding his hands up under her skirt to her hips, his nerves not soothed when she let out a slow, ragged breath.

“Steve…” she breathed, almost whimpering. “You don’t have to…”

She stopped protesting when his nose pressed against her panties, to the place where her thighs met. And then she was just gasping and hot breaths and squirming below him. He smiled and inhaled the smell of her desire, reaching a tentative finger along her folds through the fabric.

“Is this okay?” he asked gently, listening for the choked out _yes_ before reaching up to hook his fingers under the sides and pull down. This part, he decided, was easy-peasy, when she lifted her ass and let him pull her underwear off and down. She clamped her knees shut and he remembered that this might be the first time for her, that she was as nervous as he. But he kissed the top of one knee again before gently spreading her legs apart. They weren’t going to get anywhere if they didn’t dive right in, if he didn’t literally dive right in.

He was terrified but also fascinated. She was trimmed, not shaved, not like in porn, and just the sight of pink lips, of the moisture so visible when he spread her open, careful not to hurt her. It was glossy and then slightly creamy, a slight headiness when he inhaled, not sure what to do now that he finally was given the chance.

When he touched a tentative tongue to the swollen nub of nerves at the top, to what he prayed to God was her clit, Natasha shuddered. This was what he’d remembered from the night before, his mouth open and tongue tracing the places she’d showed him. She whispered his name, voice breaking, music to his ears.  He’d put two fingers down there, down inside the hole that from this view was downright hypnotic, and when he slipped one in again, she whimpered. He marveled as she wiggled around him, at the sight of her ass or the way her thighs trembled when he pulled out. When he dropped his tongue down to that spot where he’d just pushed inside her, out of total curiosity, she yelped and gripped his hair with her hands. That was just the right amount of hurt, the right sensation and he stopped to lean into her hand, his eyes closed.

“I want to… we should…” Natasha panted, and he listened for her to finish her thought because he wanted whatever she wanted, wanted to taste more, to feel everything. He circled his tongue back up around her clit, feeling bolder and bolder, and she clamped her thighs to his ears, his name on her lips so needy. “Steeeve,” she whined, the sound enough to make him ruin his last pair of clean pants.

“Did you come?” he asked when she’d stopped shaking, when she’d moved her legs back down. He looked up to see her covering her face with her arm, her chest rising and falling so fast. She wouldn’t look at him, not at first, but when he climbed up to the bed to lay beside her, moving her arm gently away, she smiled sheepishly. She did not, cheeks rosy and eyes dark, look angry, and he took that as a sign he’d gotten it at least mostly right.

“I want to… keep going,” she said carefully. “Can we keep going?”

Steve groaned because it wasn’t like she really ever had to ask, and she reached up to touch his cheek, leaned forward, kissing him so sweetly. “So that’s what I taste like,” she purred and licked the inside of his mouth, pressing her body against him like they’d done so many times before. But this time, there was an added knowledge, so thick in the air. This time, they weren’t going to stop. He nodded and she pulled back so that she could sit up and unbutton her shirt, so that she could slip off her tie and then her bra.

“Natasha, are you sure?” he asked even though he was yanking his own shirt off, throwing it across the room. She grinned and moved off the bed so that she could pull her skirt down and then she was naked, naked and he had to put a hand on his chest just to steady his lungs and his heart.

“I’m so sure,” she hummed, pushing him back so that she could climb atop him. Her skin was cool and he reached instantly for her breast, delighted it fit in his hands as much as he remembered. “You brought condoms, right?”

Steve nodded a quick yes, remembering the bag in his backpack and how if anything, he was over prepared, and Natasha’s fingers unbuttoned the top of his pants.

“Good,” she said, reaching in to palm him, to help him push his pants and underwear down. Steve shut his eyes tight, tried to shut out any negative thoughts about how awful he looked, what a letdown his body was to her, and she climbed back beside him, her fingers walking down his chest through pubic hair to his length, gripping him with the right amount of tight.

“Fuck, Natasha,” he sighed. “I won’t last…” Because he couldn’t, not with her stroking and the feel of her breath on his shoulder or her eyes watching his every move.

“Okay,” she said, her voice a squeak. “Okay then we should…”

“Fuck,” he moaned and she moved, allowing him to scramble for the paper bag, his hands frantically fumbling through his backpack until he had it and was dumping all the tinfoil packets across the bedspread. She raised an eyebrow and he scoffed. “I’ll tell you later.”

After the mini-torture of ripping open the packet and gracelessly rolling it on, wincing at the sensation of tight, he looked over at Natasha, looked for any word or signal to stop. She got on her knees to kiss him and then lay back, resting on her elbows and eyes wide.

“Just be gentle,” she whispered when he moved between her legs and he nodded. “I want you to keep going.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, lining himself up against her, holding his breath in case the world ended.

It didn’t end, of course, though he did have a small heart attack. He didn’t get far at all, not into where she was so tight, when she gripped his shoulders and flinched.

“Okay?” he asked and she swallowed before nodding, bucking her hips to encourage him to keep moving.

“Gentle,” she whispered and every inch felt like eternity, not that he had so many inches to brag about. She let out a slow breath and he kissed her gently, prepared to stop if she asked but praying she wouldn’t.

“Does it hurt?” He thought it might because fuck, it was so tight, tight enough to take his breath away, and because he’d heard enough stories and tales about how girls never enjoyed it in the beginning. She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes watering.

“It... burns. Like it’s too big,” she said and he moved to pull out until she was grabbing his ass as if to keep him in. “But don’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

“Like it’s too big,” he snorted even though his ego had floated on up to heaven, and she answered by lifting her hips up, the hint he needed to move.

“Shut up, Rogers,” she gasped, arching her back and he shuddered against her, fading into the way she clenched around him, the sounds she made as he started thrusting and the rhythm they found together. Clumsy and then less so, thoughts replaced with just feeling, feeling how perfect they fit together and the stickiness of her skin and the way she gritted her teeth and moaned his name.

“Natasha, Natasha, Natasha,” he cried, lasting really probably not long enough and then he was resting his sweaty forehead on her shoulder, his dick softening fast and so messy, so perfect inside her.

“Oh my God,” she gave a content sigh, “I can’t believe we did that…”

Steve pulled back, not missing the way she shivered. “Was it… can we do it again?”

She chewed on her lip and grinned. “Practice makes perfect. Besides, how many condoms do you have there?”

“Enough, I bet,” he smiled back, standing so he could hurry to dispose of the condom.

“What is your operational definition of enough?” she teased, moving off the bed so she could pull the blankets down.

“I’m not even sure,” he blushed. And then when she pulled her hair down, something about it jogged his memory and he remembered what he had in his pocket. “So, by the way, I have this thing…”

Natasha shook her head like he was out of order for even thinking of presents but he shrugged and handed her the small organza bag. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

She pulled out the small silver chain and held the small pendent in her palm. An anatomically correct pewter heart, the only one not stamped with a steampunk watch.

“It’s kinda… well, see I was thinking, since my heart beats faster when you are with me, and since you… well, because I really love you,” he stammered and she swallowed, again wiping her eyes. He would have kept going but he stopped when she moved into his arms, her lips on his and the chain clutched tightly in one hand.

“It’s amazing, thank you,” she said, kissing him quick. “You always make me feel so much more special than I’ve ever felt. I don’t think anyone loves me like you.”

Steve held her tight and thought about how he could say the same thing.

***

They skipped the next day, in favor of tentative and then feverish explorations, covering every inch of the bed and then moving to the floor and even a life-threatening attempt in the shower that resulted in Natasha riding Steve on cold bathroom tile, her wet hair in clumps and her breasts bouncing and her moans echoing loud enough he was sure people could hear. “It kinda does feel like a honeymoon,” she said once, limbs wrapped around him and panting. He smiled at the idea and daydreamed that if that ever happened, he’d make sure they went somewhere even nicer than the hotel down the street from the comic-con.

Bucky smartly just winked, texting and then calling Steve when it was time to pack up for the drive home, they’d only paid for two nights. “I bet you guys are starving,” he added wisely, which was true, though they’d sprung for room service and made trips to the vending machines. And then he offered to drive and Steve let him.

They stopped at a drive-thru, and he decided he never wanted to forget the way she tasted after she’d had a strawberry milkshake and fries. And then when Bucky stopped to get gas, she pulled out a piece of paper, covered in plastic like a comic book, her smile equal parts excited and guilty.

“So I managed to get something for you too,” she explained, holding it out and Steve’s eyes widened. Red Sonja, drawn in pencil and ink, black and white except for her brilliant red hair. It was perfect.

“It’s my thank you,” she said before kissing him. “I know you wanted to buy something and it’s a gorgeous piece.”

“Amazing,” he said, sliding it gingerly into the seatback pocket where he knew it would be safe. “Natasha, it’s amazing.”

She smiled, twirling the heart pendant in between fingers. “Thank you for this weekend, for loving me…”

“I do love you,” he asserted, pulling her over so that she was sitting on his lap. She fit, accepting him for his flaws and his quirks and his fuck-ups, and he loved her, didn’t want to ever let her go. So he told her again and again, cupping her cheek and whispering it like a prayer in both ears lest she not hear it or be convinced. “I love you, I love you, I’m so in love with you, Natasha, I love you.”

She rested her head near his heart and he felt so _big,_  so unstoppable. And he would have let her sit on his lap the rest of the way home if not for Bucky’s gagging sounds and the fact that this was illegal. So she sat beside him in the middle seat and rested her head on his shoulder instead, and he watched the lights from passing cars and the street lamps and felt so thankful for the weight she put on his body so he wouldn’t float away from happiness. She was that way, a tether who checked him, who wouldn’t let him get away with the bullshit or the bullshit thoughts. So even when he couldn’t say the words, the air leaving his body because he was so fucking high, he wrote them silently into her palms or her shoulder.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendant found [here](http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/anatomical-heart-pendant)  
> Idk if thats a comic con thing but it is in this story
> 
> Red Sonja is real, Lucy Neko is completely my need to find a reason to use Lost-in-Translation Scarlett in a pink wig
> 
>  


End file.
